Regency Surrender: Defiant Lords: His Unusual Governess / Claiming the Chaperon's Heart

‘How understanding you are,’ Francesca said and got up, wandering over to the window. ‘Did you know that Uncle Rupert has decided to employ a dancing master for me? He is French and should be here any day now.’

‘Oh...’ Sarah bit her lower lip. Lord Myers had neglected to tell her, but then, she’d hardly seen him all week. At dinner he spoke to Francesca and John, but, other than asking if she were well and had what she needed, he had not directed a whole sentence at her for seven days. ‘I had thought he might teach you himself.’

‘He said he had considered it, but felt himself unable to convey the finer points. I think he finds that John takes up most of his time—and he has friends. You know he has dined out twice this week and he spent most of yesterday afternoon with them.’

‘Yes, I dare say he wishes for some company of his own age, men he can converse with,’ Sarah agreed. ‘John was out with the groom all afternoon. I hear he is doing very well with his new pony.’

‘Yes. He finds Blackie much more of a challenge than dear old Dobbie was, which was why Uncle Rupert purchased the pony for him.’

‘Yes, that was thoughtful.’

Sarah could not fault Lord Myers for the way in which he was directing the youth’s studies, giving him enough sports and activities to make the written work acceptable. She had paused outside the marquess’s study on one occasion and heard Lord Myers reading aloud in Latin. Every now and then he’d stopped to ask John what he understood and to explain the story. His blend of authority and charm had carried John along and the boy seemed completely under his spell.

Francesca was respectful of the man she addressed as Uncle Rupert, even though he wasn’t actually her uncle, but some sort of cousin.

‘Rupert thought it better if I called him uncle. He says it is a matter of keeping up a respectable household that will give no one a chance to gossip about us. I told him that as long as I had you as a chaperon no one could possibly imagine there was anything improper in our domestic arrangements.’

Sarah resisted the temptation to ask what he’d replied. Since that night when they had played chess alone he had been reserved, even cold towards her, and she had followed his lead. It was better this way than allowing herself to imagine there might be something warm and exciting between them. If she had thought so a week ago, she did not think it now. She knew that it was the only way she could remain as Francesca’s governess, but there was an ache in her heart that she could not quite banish.

Sarah stood up and joined her pupil by the window. The afternoon was pleasantly warm with just a slight breeze.

‘I have some letters I should like to go first thing in the morning. I think I shall walk down to the Royal Oak and leave them. There might be something for me.’

‘One of the footmen will take the letters in the morning and they bring back anything that has come for us.’

‘Yes, I know, but I want these to go off—besides, I should have to rely on Lord Myers to frank them for me and I would prefer to pay some sixpences to send them myself. I was wondering if you would like to walk with me?’

‘I think I would rather stay here and practise my music, if you do not mind?’ Francesca looked at her. ‘You will be back in time for tea. Perhaps Uncle Rupert and John will join us today.’

‘Yes, perhaps. I must go up and put on my bonnet. I shall not linger, but walk straight there and back.’

Sarah left her pupil sitting at the pianoforte and the sound of music followed her up the stairs. Francesca was still playing when she returned and left the house by a side door. She had the piece almost right, but there was one passage that she rushed every time. Sarah would show her how it should be played another day.

It was the first time she’d gone for a walk alone since it had rained. The air was fresh with the scents of early summer and the hedgerows were bright with flowers, wild roses twining amongst them and bringing the countryside alive with colour.

* * *

She had reached the village without incident and entered the inn, having noticed a horse with a white mark on its rump. She thought it might have belonged to Lord Myers, but wasn’t sure. If he were here, she hoped they would not meet. It would be embarrassing if he thought she’d sought him out. As far as she’d known, he’d ridden over to a neighbour’s house on some business.

She was met by the host’s wife, who took her letters and asked her for four sixpences, to cover the cost of sending them post.

‘It would be less if they waited for the mail coach, miss, but if you want them sent urgently it must be two shillings.’

‘That is perfectly all right,’ Sarah said and handed over her two shillings. ‘Do you have any letters for Miss Hardcastle care of Miss Hester Goodrum?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact one arrived by post this afternoon.’ The innkeeper’s wife looked at her curiously. ‘You’re Miss Goodrum, governess to the children up at Cavendish Park, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Sarah saw the curiosity in her eyes. ‘Miss Hardcastle is...well, I am accepting letters for her.’

‘Oh, well, I suppose it’s all right, as it says “care of”,’ the woman said a little doubtfully. ‘I normally like to be sure a letter is given to the right person.’

‘I assure you I am the right person to receive this letter—and any others that are similarly addressed.’

‘Is something wrong, Miss Goodrum?’

Sarah jumped and glanced round as Lord Myers spoke. ‘No. I am just collecting some letters. Everything is as it should be.’ She took the letter from the woman’s reluctant hand as she seemed paralysed by Lord Myers’s arrival and was staring at him, seemingly mesmerised.

Sarah slipped the letter, which was quite a thick packet, into her reticule, but she feared that Lord Myers might have caught sight of the wording of the address before she could do so.

‘Is Francesca not with you?’ he asked, walking to the inn door and opening it for her. He walked out into the yard, standing for a moment in the sunshine as she hesitated.

‘Francesca wished to practise the music she is learning. I had some letters I wished to post.’

‘Do you write many letters, Miss Goodrum?’

‘Yes, several.’

‘To your family? Or are you seeking another post?’

‘I am not seeking another post at the moment. I have no reason to leave—have I?’

‘Only you can know that, Miss Goodrum.’

Sarah hesitated, then, ‘I understand you have engaged a dancing master for Francesca?’

‘Actually, her grandfather did so himself. I wrote and said I thought it might be a good thing and he sent word that he had seen to it. I heard this morning and told Francesca. I believe he is French—Monsieur Andre Dupree, I think he is called.’

‘Ah, I see. I had thought you might teach her yourself?’

‘I decided it might be wiser to employ a dancing master—for various reasons. Besides, most of my time is taken up with tutoring John—and there is estate business.’

‘You have been busy, I know.’

‘Yes.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘I should be returning to the house. My business here is done—and John should have had his riding lessons for the day.’

‘Yes.’ She hesitated, then, ‘Francesca wondered if you would both join us for tea today. I think she misses her brother.’

‘Yes, things have not quite gone to plan. We must have our picnic before the fine weather disappears again. Have you written the invitations?’

‘They need only the day and date. I was waiting for your approval.’

‘Then make them for this Friday. We must hope that the weather stays fine. I am told some of the strawberries will be ready for picking and that might amuse both the children and our guests.’

‘It will not amuse Francesca to be called a child. She will soon be seventeen.’

‘Not for a few months. I shall try to remember.’ He inclined his head to her. ‘I shall not keep you, Miss Goodrum—if that is your name...’

With that he walked away, leaving Sarah to stare after him in dismay. It was the first time he’d talked to her for a week, but she could not deceive herself; his manner was decidedly cool towards her. She was not sure if he was angry or whether he simply did not trust her.