A Governess for the faithless Duke (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 3)
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Authors: Regina Darcy
Copyright © Regina Darcy 2016
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher and writer except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a contemporary work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
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“I still wish we didn’t have to send her away, Jon.”
Charlotte Williams heard her mother’s worry clearly in her words. Her parents were discussing her upcoming departure for the county seat of the Duke of Marbleton to be governess to his lordships two orphaned nieces.
“My love,” her father said, the clergyman’s voice low and pained, “I would do anything to make it not be so, as you well know, but we have little choice, but to send Charlotte, she is the eldest. Our parish living grows smaller, the parishioners are of meagre means. We must keep body and soul together, as we are not mendicant Franciscans, allowed to beg for sustenance.”
Charlotte’s heart was torn. Over the past year, not only had a number of elderly, well-off parishioners died without issue to continue their tithes to the church, but a few farms had lost income from poor showing at markets. The loss in income was reflected in the vicar’s emolument. As a consequence she was now getting ready to take herself off for an employment in a stranger’s house. Relegated to teaching little girls to be ladies through words and figures, music, sewing, and the other accomplishments that were expected of young well-bred girls.
With her in someone else’s home, being housed and fed, her family would be able to maintain an easier living.
Her parents rued the day that things had come to such a pass, but Charlotte was excited by all the possibilities inherent in such a situation as hers. At the very least, she would avoid a too-early marriage to someone she did not care for as a means of securing her future against poverty. Instead, she would be able to see something of the world beyond the walls of her home, to meet interesting people, to breathe the air of her betters and learn from them how to advance herself.
She walked past her parents’ bedchamber and slipped into the drawing room, searching until she found the book she had been reading before dinner. Lighting a candle, forgetting for the moment that they were down to their last four, with no money for more until the next Sunday service, Charlotte settled herself in the chair and found her book mark. Her expressive features mirroring her enjoyment of what she was about to read. An hour later, though, she was drowsing, and after spilling a bit of wax on her skin and crying out at the discomfort, she doused the candle and took the book back to her room with her. Tomorrow would be her last day among the family and friends she had known since her youth.
Her mother had planned a farewell meal, much against her wishes, knowing as she did how meagre their store of food was. The next day, a carriage was being sent to take her to Marbleton House, the Duke’s country home. Her family would all be there to see her off. Including her best friend Emma Winton, who had been born a few hours after her, and who had been her inseparable companion since then. She sighed as she put the book under the pillow and pulled up the thin coverlet. She prayed that all would be well, both for her beloved family and for herself.
Next morning saw a flurry of activity ahead of the arrival of callers who were expected to come and offer Charlotte their best wishes. The front parlour had been swept, and by the noon hour the girls and their mother had taken up their embroidery in the cosy space, awaiting the arrival of their well-wishers. A stream of visitors made their way through the vicar’s front parlour, mostly friends of his daughter, all bearing gifts for her to take with her.
Charlotte was overwhelmed by their kindness and concern, and though she tried to tell them that she was perfectly happy to go, and that it was no sacrifice for her, they all seemed to think she was to be commiserated with, so that finally, she gave up and let them have their say. She accepted the sweetmeats, the wool, the book, and all their kind good wishes and hugs. She would leave the food for her family, aside from a meat pie for the journey, and pack the few other gifts in the shabby but serviceable valise that would also carry her meagre wardrobe and other necessaries.
Emma alone remained after two hours of a constant stream of visitors, and she was invited to tea. The youngest of four children, Emma grew up with three brothers. She was a bit of a tomboy, which did not bother Charlotte in the slightest. The two girls had decided when they were still very young that they would have adventures, like boys did, before they even considered getting married. Even if their adventures were not of the same variety. And here it was that Charlotte was about to embark on her very first one. Emma declared herself envious of her friend’s good fortune, though she still grew damp-eyed at the thought of losing her companion.
“I hope that you will write to me often, Charlie,” Emma said as she spread cream on one of the warm scones set before them. “I shall look to hear how you have settled in, and how the children treat you.”
“I promise to send word as soon as I can,” Charlotte replied, and sipped her tea.
“What do you suppose he’s like, the Duke?” Emma asked.
“I would imagine he is some older gentleman forced to raise his nieces, and what bachelor knows anything about raising children?” Charlotte stated calmly.
“What makes you so certain he is unmarried?” Emma asked, taking another bite of her scone.
“ ‘Pon my word, I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “I just assume he must be.” She shrugged, biting into a cucumber sandwich. “And if he is not, then it would not be amiss to imagine that his wife must be as elderly as he is, and quite unable to handle two energetic little girls.”
“Certainly, you will know for sure on the morrow,” Emma concluded. “You will describe it all to me, won’t you?”
“Oh, I shall,” Charlotte promised. “In the meantime, you must promise me not to pine for me. We shall always be the best of friends, no matter where we are.”
The girls both sniffed at once, clearly overwhelmed by Charlotte’s imminent departure. They held each other’s hands briefly, then resolutely went back to their tea.
“I shan’t be able to say goodbye tomorrow, as I must accompany Mama to visit my grandfather. But I shall be thinking of you,” Emma promised.
Charlotte’s mother had been silent while the friends spoke, but now she settled her teacup on its saucer and said,
“You girls make it sound as though our Charlotte were going abroad, instead of just a few hours away. Cheer up, the both of you.”
Her voice was strained, and the friends knew she was holding in her own tears. The conversation became very general after that admonition. By the time Emma left, hugging her friend tightly for a moment, Charlotte was feeling unusually melancholic. She helped her mother clear away the tea things and prepare the evening repast. Then, taking herself off for a walk, she took in the views around the vicarage where she had grown up, and settled the scene in her memory. She didn’t know when she would see her home again, and though she was excited at the chance to go away, she knew she would miss her family and friends, and the village where she had lived almost her whole life.
Next morning, after a fitful rest, Charlotte dressed carefully and took her valise down to the front hall to await the carriage that would take her to her new home. She went into the kitchen to find her mother making breakfast.
“Let me help you with that, Mama,” she said, but her mother shooed her away.
“Go and fetch your sister,” she told her. “Breakfast is ready.”
Charlotte did as she was bid, finding her younger sister braiding her long black hair.
“Good morning, Amelia,” she greeted her, dropping a warm kiss on her cheek. “Mama wants us for breakfast.”
Amelia remained silent for a moment, and then she sighed. “I wish you didn’t have to go, Charlie,” she said, her voice heavy with unshed tears. “I shall miss you,” she sniffed.
Charlotte reached for her little sister’s hand, and squeezed it gently. “As I shall miss you, Amelia. But I must do this, my dear. You know it. There is no choice. I am happy to do it, though, I promise you, and excited about what lies ahead. I shall write to you as often as I can, and tell you all that is happening with me. And I shall look forward to your replies.”
She drew her little sister to her feet and said, draping an arm over her shoulders, “Now come along. No more long faces and no more tears. Let’s go and have a lovely breakfast before I go.”
There was little conversation at breakfast, and Charlotte decided that perhaps this once she would not try to force a cheerfulness that was clearly missing. Instead, she ate her thick porridge, crusty bread and butter, and sipped her tea, and then sat in the drawing room waiting for her ride to come, because her mother refused to let her help.
“You’ll dirty your gown,” she had told her daughter, “and the last thing you need to do is arrive looking unkempt.”
The sound of horses’ hooves approaching made Charlotte tense involuntarily, and her father opened the door. Her little family all stepped out, her valise in her father’s hand, and watched as the carriage came to a stop before the gate. A tall, gaunt man approached and greeted them, though he addressed himself to her father.
“Good morrow to you, Mr Williams. I am Jones, here to collect Miss Williams.”
“Good morning, Mr Jones. Our Charlotte is ready.”
The vicar handed the valise to the coachman and watched as Charlotte hugged her mother and sister. The he took her into his arms, and said,
“Go with God, my child. Write to us so that we may know how you are faring.” He kissed her on the forehead, and added, “And if you need us for any reason, do not hesitate to call. I will come myself and fetch you home if I must.”
Charlotte smiled. Her father was a solemn, quiet man, but she knew the depth of his love for his family.
“I promise, Papa. I will make you and Mama proud of me, I promise.”
“I have no doubt of it, my child,” he said, and let her go.
Her mother reached for her once more, and hugged her eldest child to her bosom before releasing her. Sobbing she withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve which she used to dry her eyes.
“God bless you, my child,” she said as Jones helped Charlotte into the coach.
When the coach moved off, Charlotte waved at her family, and kept waving until they disappeared from view. Then she settled back against the seat and inhaled deeply. Her new life was about to begin, and she couldn’t wait to get started.
Charlotte jerked awake when the carriage came to a stop. They had travelled for hours to get to Marbleton House, and she had gazed about her as they went, marvelling at the beauty of the country through which they journeyed. She had eaten the lunch her mama had packed for her and then must have fallen asleep. Now she scrambled to gather herself before the coachman came to open the door for her to descend. She patted her curls and smoothed her skirt in her lap just as the door came open and Jones extended a hand to help her down. She smiled at him, and said,
“Thank you, Mr Jones.”
The coachman returned her smile and replied, “Just Jones, ma’am.”
Then he pulled her valise from the coach and walked with her to the front door of a palatial dwelling. Marbleton House sat in a hundred acres of prime property just outside of Elgin Bottom, the village closest to the Duke’s lands. It was just coming on to evening, and the late afternoon sky was wreathed in lavender and blue and gold, with hint of peach and pink. It was a glorious sky, and Charlotte felt her heart rise in joy at the beauty of the heavens, taking it as a good omen. She picked up her skirts and hurried after the man, pausing when he did as the great front door swung open to reveal an austere personage of middle years who eyed her with cool reserve.
“You must be the new governess,” the man said. “I am Mr Milton, His Grace’s butler. Please follow me. Jones, leave the bag here.”
So saying, the butler turned smartly on his heels and walked away, and Charlotte followed, hearing the sounds of merriment coming from a room on the far side of the long hallway. She scarcely had time to look at her surroundings before she was invited to step into a small sitting room.
“Please wait here,” the butler said. “Mrs Thomson will be with you shortly.”
He left her alone, closing the door quietly behind him, and Charlotte inhaled deeply to steady her suddenly jangling nerves. She would have liked to have known his name, as it would have made her feel somewhat less isolated. Instead, she look around her, taking in the jewel-toned curtains and patterned, overstuffed chairs. The light in the room grew steadily dimmer, and the air chillier, while the sounds of merriment grew louder. She stood up and walked to the window, rubbing her hands along her arms as she did so. The door behind her opened and a tall, angular woman, with a face that could not decide whether to be intimidating or welcoming, strode in, bearing a candle.
“You must be Miss Williams, the new governess,” the woman said, her voice deep and brusque. “I am Mrs Thomson, His Grace’s housekeeper. Please follow me.”
Leaving the sitting room, Charlotte followed the woman up the wide and imposing staircase to the second floor, along an equally imposing hallway to a third set of stairs that led to what was at once a schoolroom and a sitting room.
“You will take your meals with the children here,” Mrs Thomson said. “You will establish their hours of study and play, and they are to be kept away from His Grace unless he expressly desires to see them.”
Before she could take in her working space, the housekeeper was on the move again. She took her back down the stairs to a small bedchamber at the very end of the hall, next to a sitting room which she supposed was for the governesses’ use.
Mrs Thomson led the way into the room, and walked over to the door which connected her sleeping quarters with the sitting room. “Your valise has already been brought up for you,” she said, indicating the shabby case on the floor by the wardrobe.
“No doubt you would like some supper. Shall I have them bring it to your private sitting room, or upstairs to the schoolroom?”
“Oh, please don’t trouble the kitchen staff to take it up a third set of stairs, Mrs Thomson,” she said. “I shall have my supper here. And thank you.”
She smiled warmly, and the woman turned away, saying as she did so, “I’ll have the children brought in so you can meet them.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said again, and waited until her door was closed before sinking onto the bed that dominated the small room.
She was tired, and looked forward to an early night, but there were yet things to be done before bed. She quickly unpacked her valise, and slid it under the bed. Her few meagre belongings did not fill the wardrobe or drawers, but she was content. She had three serviceable gowns, and the few books she had brought with her she would keep in the schoolroom, except for the one she would be reading. After setting her room to suit her taste, she walked into the small sitting room beyond and noted the thin curtains at the windows, the writing desk, and the easel. She wondered if there was a pianoforte in the schoolroom. She would need to investigate her workspace more thoroughly before she went to bed, to decide how she would divide the children’s day.
She heard a sharp knock on the door and hurried over to open it. A young girl walked in carrying a tray laden with food, and a pot of tea. The maid put the tray on the table by the window and departed without saying a word. Charlotte lifted the covers and found a steaming bowl of thick soup, a large hunk of cheese, an apple, and the thick end of a loaf of bread. She sat down to eat, mulling over the questions she would have to ask when the children were brought to her as she downed the soup, which was exceptionally delicious.
She needed to know when they were first wakened. She had been raised to be up with the birds, but then she was not a marchioness, and there had been no servants to do for her and her sister, or to take care of the house and gardens. She supposed these children would be resistant to the idea of early rising, but she would find a way to make it worth their while to do so.
As she thought about her duties, munching on the bread and cheese, another knock sounded, and she went to open the door again, this time to admit two little girls and another woman.
“Please do come in,” she invited the trio, and once they were in, she introduced herself. “I am your new governess, Miss Williams,” she announced.
The woman with the girls spoke up. “I’m Molly Carpenter, Miss,” she said. “I’m the girls’ nursemaid. This is Eliza and this is Mary Anne.”
The older girl, Eliza, turned cool eyes on Charlotte, as if she were assessing her worth. The younger one smiled shyly, and Charlotte returned her smile, ignoring her older sister to speak to her.
“So tell me, Mary Anne, how old you are.”
“I am seven, Miss,” she said.
“It’s Miss Williams,” Charlotte corrected her gently, smiling again, before turning to her older sister. “And you, Eliza? How old are you?”
The girl looked as though she was considering not answering, and Charlotte waited patiently, not showing any annoyance, until the child sighed heavily and said,
“I’m ten.”
She spoke grudgingly, as though she couldn’t afford to spare the words, and Charlotte chuckled, startling them. All three looked suspiciously at her, but she ignored their curiosity and turned to the nursemaid.
“Molly, as tomorrow will be my first day of working with the girls, I would like them to be brought in at breakfast time. When is breakfast?”
“It’s at ten, Miss,” the nursemaid said.
Charlotte refrained from correcting her informal address, and continued. “Tomorrow, I shall let you know how much before then I will need the girls to be ready.”
Turning back to the girls, she said, “We will begin immediately after breakfast, and I will test you in reading and writing. We shall see where we are from there.”
Smiling at them, she ended, “Well, thank you for bringing them to meet me, Molly. I appreciate it. I will see you young ladies in the morning.”
The nursemaid shepherded her charges out of the sitting room, and Charlotte poured herself a cup of lukewarm tea. She saw at once that she would need to win over the older girl, and hoped it would not be too hard a task to do so. When she finished her supper, she took herself back up the stairs to the schoolroom, taking the books with her, and set them on the shelf by the pianoforte. She noted what books and other articles she would need to have brought in so that she could best teach the girls. There was a plentiful supply of writing paper and ink, and three brand new quills. The pianoforte was well used but as she trailed her fingers over the keys lightly, she could tell that it was well tuned. Satisfied, she took herself off to bed. She fell into a dreamless sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.
By force of habit, she awoke next morning before the sun began to show its face over the horizon. As she made her morning ablutions, elsewhere in the household the servants were awake and on the go. Mrs Thomson dispatched the maids to their labours, and as she and Milton consulted regarding the day’s activities, they spared a word for the newest member of the household.
“What a beautiful young thing she is!” Mrs Thomson said.
“But completely unaware of it,” Milton intoned, “which to my way of thinking is a good thing. We do not need any flirtations between the master and any other women, especially ones under his roof.”
They both sighed, thinking no doubt of the scandals attached to their master’s reputation. He had twice left women at the altar, and was becoming known as something of a rake in polite circles.
“It will certainly do him no good to fool around with the hired help,” Mrs Thomson said. “In any case, he is hardly likely to see her, unless he calls for the girls, is he?”
“I’m feel certain that he will at least want to meet the woman he has given the charge of his nieces over to,” Milton said, and then broke off to address the footman who was standing too close and obviously trying to listen in on their conversation. “Is there something that I can help you with, Thomas?”
The footman shuffled guiltily away without responding. Milton shook his head disapprovingly and then turned to the housekeeper and said, “We shall see how it goes, Mrs Thomson. His Grace has asked to see me after breakfast. I will let you know what transpires.”
They parted ways to continue the chores which awaited them, while the subjects of their conversation were above stairs variously employed in their usual morning rituals. His Grace the Duke of Marbleton was being helped into his riding boots by his valet, to whom he was giving strict instructions regarding his morning attire.
“When I return, I wish to wear the grey suit. I must meet the new governess and then I have some business to attend to in the village.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the young man replied, brushing imaginary lint from his master’s shoulders.
The Duke strode from his chambers and went out into the early morning air, while Charlotte for her part, having completed her ablutions, went up to the schoolroom to begin to ready it for the arrival of her charges. She had saved the apple from her supper, and once she was done arranging the room to suit her needs, she went to stand by the window and bit into it.
Movement caught her eyes and she looked down to see a tall, broad-shouldered man striding quickly towards the back of the manor house. His hair was golden in the lightening glow of morning, and he cut a fine figure of a gentleman. She wondered idly if this was her new employer. No doubt she would find out soon enough. She had quite a list of things she would need to request that he purchase for her, so that she could provide the best education for his nieces. Turning away from the window, she finished her apple and went back down to her rooms, to read until it was time to return to start her day officially.