My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) Page 3

  In the entrance hall, Miss Palmer was introduced to Riverton, the butler. His greeting to the new governess was all that was rigidly proper, in sharp contrast to the controlled warmth he had shown the duchess on welcoming her back to what had once been her home. Elinor was shown to her room as the marquis and his mother proceeded directly to the schoolroom to greet the children. Miss Palmer was asked to join them a bit later.

  She removed her bonnet and pelisse and surveyed her surroundings. This chamber was as comfortable and inviting as the one in London. She wondered if Trenville took care of all his employees this well and decided he probably did. She freshened up and reported to the schoolroom.

  There she found the duchess had already gone to her own chamber to rest before dinner, but the marquis was still there, hugging a child on each knee, and listening with interest to a story from the third child whom Elinor assumed to be his niece. She was struck by the utter domesticity of the scene.

  Here was a new view of her reserved employer. So far she had seen him as an aristocrat, one who took seriously the duties of his positions in society and the government. Here was a father who clearly enjoyed his children. Her own father had been such a man. So, why, Papa, did you give someone like Uncle Brompton such control over Peter and me? Then she upbraided herself. Do stop wallowing in self-pity! She smiled at the family grouped before her.

  “Ah, Miss Palmer. May I introduce my children? This is my daughter, Lady Elizabeth, and my son Geoffrey, Viscount Templeton.” At his urging the children climbed down from his lap and executed a very proper curtsy and bow.

  “How nice to meet you, my lady, your lordship.” She addressed the children and formally curtsied back to them. The little girl giggled.

  “And this young lady is my niece, Lady Anne.” The older girl curtsied correctly.

  “Your ladyship.” Elinor greeted her as formally as she had the others.

  The three children eyed her inquisitively.

  “Miss Palmer is your new governess,” Trenville explained. “You must be very nice to her and do exactly as she bids you.”

  The two younger children nodded solemnly, but stayed close to their father. The older girl, a beautiful child with blond hair so light it was almost white, gave her a tentative smile, but her eyes, which were an intense deep blue, showed cautious reserve.

  “Will you teach me to read?” Geoffrey asked shyly. “I already know my letters.”

  “So do I,” Elizabeth interjected. “I want to read, too.”

  “Of course you do, my lady,” Elinor said, then addressed both of them, “and we shall certainly learn to read.”

  “I already know how to read,” Anne said importantly. “Mama says I shall soon have no need of a governess.”

  “I can see that you are quite a grown-up young miss, my lady. We shall try to build upon what you already know,” Elinor replied.

  “Miss Palmer,” the marquis said as he stood, “you may dispense with the children’s titles until they truly are quite grown. This is Bess, Geoffrey, and Anne.” He patted each on the head.

  “As you please, my lord.”

  “The children will take dinner here with the nursery maid, Miss Palmer, but my mother and I shall expect you to join us.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He named the hour and then left the room, leaving her to get acquainted with her charges. A wave of sheer panic washed over her. What did she know of teaching? Or, indeed, of young children? True, she had always been close to her younger brother, but Peter had not been as young as these children for several years.

  The four of them stared at each other for a moment. Then the twins both spoke excitedly.

  “There are puppies in the stable,” Geoffrey said.

  “And kittens!” Bess added.

  “Perhaps you will show them to me tomorrow,” Elinor suggested.

  “Uncle said I am to have a pony soon.” Anne was obvious in her desire to be included.

  “How exciting,” Elinor said. “I had a pony when I was your age. I loved him dearly. His name was Ali Baba and we had great fun together.”

  “You did?” The little girl clearly disbelieved her. “Mama said a governess would not know anything of riding.”

  Instantly aware that her nervousness had allowed her to reveal more than she should have, Elinor responded thoughtfully to this challenge. “I daresay she is right about most governesses. Few are familiar with such sport. But I am.”

  “Oh.”

  For the next half hour the children vied with each other to entertain the new governess and introduce her to their favorite toys. Then it was time for their evening meal and for Miss Palmer to prepare herself for dinner.

  As she changed into a simply designed gray gown of very light wool, she thought longingly of the ivory silk hanging in the armoire of her chamber in Lincolnshire. White lace at the wrists and a lace fichu were the only relief to the severity of the gray dress. Fastening a gold locket, she started for the door, then remembered her glasses.

  “Best not forget these,” she told herself. “Something to hide behind.”

  The butler showed her into the drawing room already occupied by the duchess and one of the most stunningly beautiful women Elinor had ever beheld. She was blond with striking blue eyes. Just like her daughter’s, Elinor thought, for this woman had to be Anne’s mother. Another woman of indeterminable age and modest dress accompanied them.

  “Ah, come in, my dear,” the duchess said. “Allow me to introduce my daughter-in-law, the Marchioness of Trenville. And Madame Giroux, her companion. Gabrielle, this is Miss Palmer.”

  “Your ladyship. Madame.” Elinor curtsied very slightly.

  “Miss Palmer.” The marchioness nodded her greeting. Elinor noticed that the beauty spoke with a marked accent. The companion said nothing, but did acknowledge the newcomer by inclining her head. Madame Giroux was a small mouse of a woman with bright, beady eyes that missed very little.

  “Gabrielle and her companion are French,” the duchess said. “Lady Trenville’s family fled the Terror when she was very young. Madame Giroux joined her a few years ago.”

  “Maria remains very French, but I am thoroughly English now, I fear.” Gabrielle had a silvery laugh.

  “Not too thoroughly English,” Adrian said, entering the room. “Hello, Gabbi.” He greeted his sister-in-law in the French fashion, kissing her on each cheek. “Ladies,” he directed to his mother, Madame Giroux, and Miss Palmer.

  Elinor watched with interest as the marchioness seemed to blossom at his attention. The woman was, indeed, a charmer. Fair of face and figure, she was in her early thirties, Elinor conjectured. Without her seeming in any way to command such, the conversation throughout the evening centered on topics of interest to the French woman. She wanted to know all the latest on dits from Town and shared similar gossip of the local area.

  Adrian met with his steward the next day and the two of them conducted an inspection tour of the rather vast acreage that constituted his main holding, Whitsun Abbey. As they rode along, Jenkins apprised his lordship of local events of interest.

  “Are our nocturnal workers still engaged in their trade?” Adrian asked with exaggerated irony.

  “I am afraid so, my lord.” Jenkins shook his head. “Not as much as before the war ended, but as you well know, there are still many who would rather buy and sell their cognac without customs men being involved. And our beaches are convenient.”

  “Yes. I am sure that many a bottle in my own cellars came into the country that way,” Adrian admitted ruefully.

  “There seem to be only two local gangs operating now. They respect each other’s territory and customers. Stay out of each other’s hair, don’t you know?”

  “We know who they are?”

  “Oh, yes. The militia hauls a few of them before the magistrate once in a while. A couple of them—really brutal fellows they were—have been transported.”

  “I suppose we should crack down harder on the whole
lot.” Adrian knew that, as he was the area’s principal landowner, it was up to him to initiate such a move. “I hate to do that in these hard times. There are already far too many men roaming the highways out of work.”

  “The way it is, it is easier to keep an eye on the business,” Jenkins offered.

  “There is that.”

  “Drive them underground and there’s no telling who’s doing what.”

  “So, who is doing what?” Adrian asked.

  “Total of ten, fifteen, maybe more. It varies with the particular job or shipment. Fred Jones from over at Bimford heads one of the gangs.”

  “Jones?” Adrian did not recognize the name.

  “His folks own an inn in Bimford—Three Sails West it’s called.”

  “Oh, yes. And the other?”

  The steward glanced obliquely at his employer, cleared his throat, and spoke quietly. “ ’Tis your housekeeper’s son, my lord.”

  “Little Bobby Hoskins? You cannot be serious.”

  Jenkins laughed. “He’s not so little these days, sir. Big strapping lad, he is, with a wife and babe of his own.”

  “All the more reason for him not to be involved in such shady dealings then.”

  “Right, my lord. But if you were to acknowledge you knew about the smuggling, you’d have to take formal action, wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably. But a word to his mother should suffice as a warning.”

  Three

  As she climbed into bed the next night, Elinor assured herself the first day had gone well. There had been few actual lessons, but she had become better acquainted with the children—and their beloved puppies and kittens. On their way to the stables, little Bess had shyly placed her small hand in Elinor’s. The gesture signaled the little girl’s acceptance and Elinor was strangely warmed by it. Later in the day, Geoffrey, too, had come around, bringing a special offering, a flutterby he had captured in his cupped hands. Anne was less ready to extend a wholehearted welcome to this new adult in their lives and frequently offered authoritative advice and warnings in a tone obviously borrowed from some adult.

  “Children are not allowed in the stables or outbuildings.... Bess, mind you do not get grass stains on your skirt.... Keep to the paths now.... Geoff, do stop racing around like a chicken.”

  Elinor tried, without much success, to distract Anne from her officious and domineering attitude. Perhaps she does not receive sufficient attention, Elinor mused, though Anne’s uncle had accorded her extraordinary attention the day before and the promised pony did not indicate neglect on his part. However, the child’s mother had not made an appearance with the schoolroom set. Perhaps Anne needed to feel important—and loved. Something to work on.

  The following day a pattern was established for the activities of the new governess and her charges. Elinor rose early each morning and took a walk around the grounds before breakfast. Sometimes she then had the sunny family breakfast room all to herself, for the other ladies were not early risers. Occasionally, the marquis was there before her. After an exchange of polite greetings, he would ask penetrating questions about the children’s lessons, even suggesting works from his own library that might be helpful, at least to their teacher. Meanwhile, servants assigned to the care of the children would ready them for the morning’s lessons.

  Spending her days with her charges, Elinor welcomed the chance for adult company in the evenings. Although she invariably had fleeting regrets about her limited wardrobe as she changed for dinner, she spent little time lamenting the loss of pretty clothes.

  One evening as she entered the drawing room prior to the announcement of dinner, Elinor was pleased to see that Thomas Huntington had joined the group.

  “I am surprised to see you so soon, Mr. Huntington. I understood you would be in London at least a week after we left,” she commented after greeting him and the others.

  “Actually, it was nearly a week, but I made the journey in less time than you. Of course, I had the advantage of traveling lightly. And alone.” He smiled.

  “You must indeed have made good time then.”

  “Sealed dispatches from the Foreign Office require the utmost expediency,” he said, adopting a teasingly pompous tone.

  “Oh, I see.” She smiled at him.

  “Sherry, Miss Palmer?” The marquis offered her a glass.

  “Thank you,” she said, briefly looking into his eyes, recognizing the now familiar tingle as their hands touched when he gave her the glass. She quickly lowered her gaze.

  Both men were dressed casually, but elegantly. However, Elinor noted to herself, Adrian commanded one’s attention more intensely. She pulled herself up short. Just when did the Marquis of Trenville become “Adrian” to her? She turned to engage the ladies in conversation until dinner was soon announced.

  In the drawing room later, Gabrielle entertained them with a practiced, if less than stirring performance on the pianoforte. Both the duchess and Madame Giroux were occupied with needlework as Elinor idly leafed through a copy of La Belle Assemblee. Huntington and the marquis seemed content just to listen. Then tea was served and the footman bearing it left the room as the duchess began to pour.

  “Come, Thomas.” Gabrielle patted the seat next to her as she moved to the settee, pronouncing his name in her enchanting Gallic accent. “You must share with us the latest on dits from Town.”

  Elinor put aside her magazine to take the cup the Duchess offered. She glanced at Adrian. He seemed amused at his sister-in-law’s undisguised delight in gossip.

  Huntington laughed and took the seat she indicated. “I doubt I have much to offer beyond what the others have already told you,” he said with a nod in the direction of their companions.

  “Surely there is something,” she wheedled.

  “Hmm. Well, yes, I think there is. Seems Melbourne’s wife has become quite outre in her pursuit of the poet, Byron.”

  “No! Tell me!” She clasped her hands before her.

  “Yes,” he assured her, accepting the cup the duchess handed him. “Dressed herself as a page to gain admittance to a rout he was attending. Stirred quite a furor, I’m told.”

  “And how did his lordship react to that?” asked the duchess.

  “Which one—Melbourne or Byron?” Huntington responded.

  “Both.” Her grace chuckled.

  “Melbourne whisked his wife off to the country forthwith and Byron seems to be avoiding company—at least until the gossip dies down.”

  “Oh, how rich.” Gabrielle laughed. “What else?”

  “Seems an heiress has disappeared,” Huntington said, warming to his task.

  Intuitively, Elinor froze, her cup halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowered it, taking care it did not rattle against the saucer. She gripped the saucer tightly.

  “Who?” Gabrielle’s voice was a delighted little squeal.

  “No one we know,” Huntington said. “Sister to the new Earl of Ostwick, but he is still a schoolboy. They are trying to keep it close as wax, but the guardian was in Town making inquiries.”

  “Is foul play suspected?” the marquis asked.

  “Apparently not.” Huntington shrugged. “The lady seems to have run away on her own.”

  “With a lover?” Gabrielle asked.

  “Trust a Frenchwoman to read romantic intrigue into it,” Huntington said, laughing. “Who knows? There was some vague talk of a match, but I forget with whom.”

  “Perhaps she disliked the match and ran away with a lover of her own choice,” Gabrielle said.

  Elinor tried to look relaxed, though she sat rigidly, unable to look at any of them lest her eyes give her away. Panic gripped her as the marchioness guessed at least half the truth.

  “Ostwick,” the duchess mused. “I believe the family name is Richards. What is the lady’s name then?”

  “I did not catch it truly,” Huntington said with another shrug. “Helen—or Ellen. Something like that. Melanie, maybe.”

  “Well,” the duchess sai
d dismissively, “let us hope she has not been compromised in any way. Caroline Lamb’s antics seem far more serious. Melbourne is an ambitious man.”

  Elinor breathed a soft inward sigh of relief as the conversation veered away from the runaway heiress. She set her tea aside and began leafing through the magazine again, but took little note of what she saw.

  Presently the marquis’s deep voice caught her attention as he addressed Huntington.

  “You are certainly as familiar with this area as I am, Tom. Would you say the smuggling trade has become more marked recently?”

  “Mr. Huntington’s father was steward here when my husband was marquis,” the duchess said to Elinor. “Thomas ran freely with my children as they were growing up. His mother still lives in the village.”

  “I would not say it is any worse,” Huntington said slowly. “Probably about the same, despite the end of hostilities with the French. Chance for locals to pick up some extra coin occasionally. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering if I should do something about it,” Adrian said.

  “Certain it is that you have the authority to do so,” Huntington responded. “However, I should think it would be easier to keep track of the trade if you did not require them to sneak around any more than they already do.”

  Adrian nodded. “That is exactly what Jenkins said.”

  “But surely, you cannot condone such activity, my son,” the duchess admonished.

  “I am not condoning it, Mother. Merely not making a larger issue of it than need be.”

  “Well . . .” She sounded dubious.

  “And to that end,” he went on, “before you return to Wallenford on the morrow, I should like you to have a friendly word with Mrs. Hoskins about her son’s evening activities. It would be better coming from another woman, I think.”

  “Little Bobby Hoskins?” The duchess was aghast.

  Adrian gave a bark of laughter. “That was my reaction, too. Little Bobby Hoskins,” he affirmed. “Now, if you all will excuse me, I must look at those dispatches Thomas brought with him.”