The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 12
He leaned forward. ‘Mrs Bailey, I have a question for you.’
‘Yes, my lord?’
Her hands were shaking a little in her lap.
‘Can you tell me why you have no reference from your last employer?’
Her eyes flicked to Miss Bolton, then back to him. ‘It is,’ she said slowly, ‘a distressing tale.’
Intriguing.
‘Let us hear it, then.’
She paused, then seemed to gather herself. ‘I was housekeeper in a sizeable house, and my daughter, Jane, was a housemaid there. Jane is here today—I hope to find positions for both of us in the same household.’
‘Yes...? Do continue.’
Mrs Bailey’s lips tightened. ‘Unfortunately Jane came to the attention of the—Of a young man.’
She paused again. She seemed to be struggling to speak. Beside him, Miss Bolton was twisting a handkerchief over and over.
Mrs Gray intervened, asking bluntly, ‘Is your daughter with child, Mrs Bailey?’
‘No! Thankfully not that. I was able to rescue her from the young man before—before he had... No, she is not with child. But I could not continue to live there, with him so determined and my poor Jane so upset and frightened. So we left. He will never give either of us a reference now.’
Beside him Miss Bolton gasped, and he looked at her. She was pale and trembling, clearly aghast at Mrs Bailey’s tale. He felt a wave of compassion wash over him. Sometimes Miss Bolton seemed so self-contained it was easy to forget that she had led a fairly sheltered life. He was surprised by an almost overwhelming compulsion to take care of her.
‘Thank you for telling us, Mrs Bailey,’ he said evenly. ‘I should like you to wait in the other room for a few minutes.’
The woman nodded, thanked them, and went outside.
‘Miss Bolton?’ he said immediately, turning towards her. ‘Are you well?’
She did not look well. Her eyes seemed huge in her pale face and she looked at him uncomprehendingly. Instinctively he reached for her hand. She clung to it tightly, as if he were her anchor. He felt an unexpected lump in his throat.
Mrs Gray stood and went to a cabinet in the corner of the room. She poured some amber liquid into a glass and offered it to Miss Bolton.
‘Brandy,’ she said calmly.
Miss Bolton released his hand and reached shakily for the brandy. She coughed a little as she drank it, but after a few moments some colour had returned to her cheeks and she was able to assure them that she was quite well.
Ash allowed this to pass without contradiction, and gently asked if she wanted to leave.
‘Oh, no!’ said she. ‘I assure you I am perfectly recovered. It was just—the shock—Mrs Bailey and her Jane—I—’
‘Hush, now, child,’ said Mrs Gray kindly, giving Miss Bolton a speaking look.
Miss Bolton, seeing it, subsided.
The older woman turned to Ash. ‘My recommendation, my lord, for what it is worth, is that you should appoint Mrs Bailey as your housekeeper and her daughter as personal maid to the ladies. I met Jane earlier, and I believe her to be of good character, as well as a competent housemaid. She also, she says, has some skill as a dresser, having previously served a young lady.’
Miss Bolton choked again, and when she had finished coughing Ash confirmed that he would indeed appoint the two women.
‘I should say, Mrs Gray, that I can now see that you are a woman of sense and discernment, so I shall leave the rest of the process to you. I will happily accept your list of recommendations from among those you have registered. Right now I wish to take Miss Bolton back to her hotel, where she may recover properly.’
‘A wise decision, my lord,’ agreed Mrs Gray.
Ash was unclear if she was referring to his new staff or his concern for Miss Bolton.
He rose, offering Miss Bolton his arm.
He had much to think about.
* * *
Marianne was still shaken by her unexpected encounter with Mrs Bailey and by hearing the housekeeper’s tale about Jane. It had to have been Henry, of course. Although some of his friends were just as lacking in character as he, and might force themselves on an innocent maid, only Henry would have the opportunity to persist, necessitating Mrs Bailey’s removal from her home and her living.
Mrs Bailey was right about the lack of references, Marianne reflected bitterly. Henry’s vindictiveness at being thwarted would make him determined to harm Mrs Bailey and Jane in any way he could. He would be uncaring of the potential damage done—in fact he would revel in it.
Hearing what had happened to Jane had brought back Marianne’s own difficult memories of her terror at Henry’s hands. The healing effect of living at Ledbury House had had a soothing influence on her. In addition, she acknowledged that getting to know men like Lord Kingswood and Mr Cronin had contributed to having her faith in the male species somewhat restored. Now she found herself shaken by Mrs Bailey’s tale.
Jane had, of course, been her personal maid—Mrs Bailey had been so proud of her daughter’s elevation to that role. And now they had been made homeless by the same evil that had forced Marianne into leaving home. Thankfully Lord Kingswood had agreed to employ them, giving them, too, the chance of a new start at Ledbury House.
Marianne frowned. How would they endeavour to keep their former connection secret? It would surely be nigh on impossible. She had almost blurted out her knowledge of them while she had held the brandy glass in her hand, and Lord Kingswood had looked at her with such concern. With a look and a word Mrs Gray had cautioned her, and so she had remained silent.
She knew not whether she had done the right thing. Being dishonest did not come easily to her. And yet she had obeyed Mrs Gray’s warning. The register office owner had probably dealt with many similar situations, Marianne knew. She had clearly worked out that Marianne and Mrs Bailey knew each other, and that they had come to her agency for similar reasons.
And of course Mrs Bailey was always going to try Mrs Gray’s agency first, thought Marianne. After all, it was she who recommended it to me.
‘You are remarkably quiet, Miss Bolton. It is unlike you. Normally you are full of opinions.’
Marianne came back to the present with a jump. Lord Kingswood, seated opposite in the carriage, was regarding her intently.
She flushed. ‘Oh! I was thinking of—of Mrs B-Bailey, and of what happened to her daughter.’ She had stumbled over Mrs Bailey’s name, her mind checking for an instant whether she was ‘allowed’ to know it.
‘A distressing tale, for sure.’ He leaned back and brushed a speck from his immaculate sleeve. ‘Had you come across Mrs Bailey before?’ he added casually.
‘Um—well, not really.’
Miss Bolton had not. Miss Marianne Grant certainly had.
She squirmed uncomfortably.
He raised his eyes from his sleeve to pin hers. ‘I see.’ His fingers drummed lightly on his thigh. Marianne watched, helplessly fascinated. ‘Miss Bolton, would you be willing to travel back to Ledbury House early—if Fanny can spare you, that is?’
‘I should like it above all things!’ Marianne responded honestly, and quite without thinking. ‘That is, of course, I am happy to support Lady Kingswood in whatever way she needs me...’ Her voice tailed off.
He grinned. ‘Quite.’
As he watched her his smile slowly faded, to be replaced by something powerful and compelling.
Leaning across the carriage, he surprised her by taking her hand. ‘Miss Bolton—I wish you to know that should you ever have need you can come to me for assistance.’
Marianne could not breathe. His hand was warm, but the look he was sending her was, she felt, piercing right through her to her deepest secrets. Her heart pounded mercilessly. Time seemed to stand still as she gazed helplessly into those eyes.
Should she tell him?
But what if he sent her away without reference for dishonesty? Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about! The notion of him being disappointed in her was too much to contemplate. It must not happen. She could not leave this life that she had so carefully built—a life in which she had a home, a place in it. Her little room, her afternoon meetings with—with him.
The look he was giving her was warm, measured, compassionate. Perhaps she could trust him?
She wavered, considering, and then the moment was abruptly broken when the carriage suddenly swerved, coming to an abrupt halt seconds later. Marianne found herself hurtling forward, but Lord Kingswood’s strong arms closed on her shoulders, bracing her. Their faces were inches apart.
With a strangled groan Lord Kingswood closed the small gap between them and kissed her.
Chapter Twelve
Instinctively, and quite without thought, Marianne parted her lips and returned his fire with flames of her own. He groaned again, and Marianne felt the sound reverberate through her bones. It fanned the conflagration inside her to new heights.
She was lost in sensual wonder. His hands gripped her shoulders, gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough so that she could feel each finger through the fine silk of her black dress. His thumbs were caressing the soft skin over her collarbones, sending a delightful tingling through her. His mouth tasted delectably sweet.
Not sweet like a sweetmeat, she thought stupidly. More like honeyed wine. He was delicious.
Dimly, she heard the coachman jump down, and realised he was about to appear at the carriage door to check that they were uninjured. When Ash released her she automatically sat back in her seat, adjusting her bonnet and trying not to look as if she had just been thoroughly kissed. Her heart was pounding, senses tingling, and there was a delectable warmth in the pit of her stomach.
My goodness! she thought. What a kiss that was!
‘Apologies, my lord!’ The coachman’s head was at the window. ‘There’s been an accident up ahead. Looks bad.’
Ash frowned. ‘Can we be of assistance, perhaps?’ He reached for the door.
The coachman lowered the step and he descended.
Pausing, he turned back to look at Marianne. ‘Stay here,’ he commanded softly.
Marianne, who was still busy trying to deal with all the sensations, feelings and thoughts he had just created within her, nevertheless knew her duty.
‘Absolutely not!’ she retorted, rising from her seat and moving to the step.
She reached out her hand for his assistance and, after the briefest of hesitations, he gave it.
‘You are a headstrong, stubborn, wilful woman, Miss Bolton.’ There was a glint of humour in his eye.
‘I know it!’ she rejoindered, not without a little pride.
He squeezed her hand, then released it, and they turned to the scene of the accident ahead.
It was shocking. A high-perch racing phaeton had overturned, its axle clearly damaged. Both horses were screaming in terror, but as they approached it became clear that they were physically unharmed.
Ash’s coachman ran directly to the second carriage horse, which was desperately trying to free itself from the traces. Showing great courage, he managed to get close enough to take hold of the bridle, and began soothing and quieting the distressed animal and its mate.
At the same time Marianne hurried towards the overturned carriage to discover how the driver fared. Two others—a man and a woman both dressed in the plain clothes of servants—were ahead of them, and the woman gasped as Ash and Marianne approached.
‘Lor’, ’e’s broke ’is head, ’e has!’ she proclaimed.
It did look bad, Marianne conceded. The man had been thrown from the carriage and had injured his head on landing. He was lying awkwardly on his side, and blood was emerging in a fast flow from a wound to the front of his head. His face was obscured by dirt mixed with blood, and for a moment Marianne feared that he was dead.
Was this how it was when Mama and Papa had their accident?
The thought would not be denied. Marianne had struggled each time she had wondered about the reality of their deaths last summer. Carriage accidents happened all the time. Hardly a week went by without the announcement of some new death in the newspapers. But her own parents should never have been counted among the victims. Nor should this man, whoever he was.
Thankfully, at just that moment he moaned and stirred.
‘Fear not,’ Ash said calmly, moving to bend over him. ‘You have taken a spill, but you seem to be in one piece.’
The man moaned again and opened his eyes. ‘What? Where—?’
‘You are on Jermyn Street.’ Ash peered closer. ‘Why, I think I have met you before. Mr—Mr Grant, is it not?’
Marianne could see the man clearly now too. Her heart seemed to stop. Henry! It was Henry! There was no doubting it! First Mrs Bailey, now Henry. Her old life was determined to find her today, it seemed.
Fear threatened to overcome her as Ash’s words sank in. Her heart, having stilled in shock, was now racing. Her palms were sticky, there was a roaring in her ears, and her knees felt as though they might not support her weight. She stumbled slightly as blackness briefly threatened to overcome her.
Taking a deep breath, she looked again. Yes, it was Henry—of that there was no doubt. The nightmare was real.
But he had not seen her. Yet. He was still rather confused and rubbing blood away from his face.
Carefully, Marianne shuffled behind Ash, out of Henry’s eyeline.
Oh, why did I leave the carriage?
Thankfully, more bystanders were joining all the time, keen to see the spectacle, and Marianne shrank further back. She glanced to the carriage. If she walked towards it would she be even more noticeable? Perhaps she should stay here, behind the six or seven onlookers who had now gathered.
She waited.
‘Definitely her...’ Henry muttered to himself a couple of moments later as he sat up. He was looking around him, slightly dazed. ‘Think they can just go like that? Make a fool of me? Marianne and the others...’
He mumbled something else unintelligible. Marianne was now paralysed with fear. Any second now he would see her, and name her, and her world would fall apart.
‘Yes, yes...’ Ash was saying soothingly. ‘We shall get you to your home and call a doctor for you.’
He turned to the man who looked like a servant, saying quietly, ‘Could you perhaps procure a hackney for Mr Grant? He is foxed, and will have a sore head on the morrow, but otherwise there is little seriously wrong unless I mistake the matter.’
The man nodded. ‘Foxed for sure, my lord! I can smell the brandy from ’ere. Shouldn’t be allowed—these young bloods thinking they can drink what they like then tool about in a carriage at top speed on the public thoroughfare! Tried to overtake that cart, ’e did—when anybody could see there wasn’t space for ’im!’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Ash evenly, ‘the quickest way we can sort this out is by removing Mr Grant from the scene.’
The man flushed. ‘Yes, my lord.’
He disappeared off to secure a hackney, and within only a few moments one had arrived. Marianne remained hidden behind the now substantial crowd, who were ogling and exclaiming about the young man with blood all over him. The servant helped Henry to his feet and supported him as he walked slowly to the hackney.
Amid the commotion the horses were freed from the tangled traces, then a crowd of burly men began securing the carriage with ropes, with which they would move it off the road. The carriage horses were tied behind the hackney.
Having seen Henry safely stowed inside, Ash turned and began scanning the crowd, clearly looking for Marianne. She knew the moment he discovered her. His eyes found hers—a connection which seemed more than just a gaze. It was an acknowledgement, a recognition...a knowing.
It shook her as much as any of the other extraordinary events of this day.
* * *
‘And so,’ Ash continued smoothly, ‘I should like to ask for your indulgence in releasing Miss Bolton from London early, so that she might assist Mrs Cullen and Mrs Bailey in dealing with the other new staff.’
They were seated in Grillon’s, drinking tea with Lady Kingswood and Cecily, who were returned from another hectic day of shopping. Ash had walked Miss Bolton there from the scene of the accident, it being only a short distance away.
Marianne’s pulse had now returned to a more reasonable speed and she was, she felt, managing to look reasonably calm. Inside, she knew there were things she needed to think about, but right now she was focused on her tea, and on Ash’s request to Lady Kingswood.
‘But I need her here, with me!’ replied Lady Kingswood, a hint of petulance in her tone. ‘Why, she has been so helpful in fetching and carrying for me!’
Ash’s eyebrows rose. ‘I am sure you would agree, Fanny, it is not a governess’s duty to fetch and carry.’
Lady Kingswood had the grace to flush a little. ‘Well, no one forced her to do it. It is her nature, I believe. She is simply kind and helpful.’
She sent Marianne an insincere smile. Marianne looked into her teacup and wished she were a hundred miles away.
Grillon’s footman re-entered their comfortable sitting room, this time bringing a platter of bread, cold meats and cheese. Once he had left conversation resumed.
‘I might,’ said Ash, ‘consider hiring a footman for you during your remaining days in the capital.’
A gleam lit Lady Kingswood’s eye. ‘Would he wear full livery? And would you pay for the whole?’
Ash nodded. ‘Yes—and yes! You are ever audacious, Fanny! So we are agreed, then?’
Lady Kingswood glanced at Marianne, then back to Ash, and her eyes narrowed. ‘One more thing, Ash. Are you also returning to Ledbury House early? You seem much more interested in our quiet home than you said you would be.’ There was an edge to her voice.
