Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride

That sort of thing only hurt if one committed the folly of allowing someone too close. A warning voice suggested that in breaching her reserve and triggering her temper, Lord Braybrook had already stepped too close. She must ensure he never did so again.

Chapter Three

Three days later an elegant equipage pulled up St Michael’s Hill to the Chapel of the Three Kings. Julian sat back against the squabs, still not quite able to believe what he had set in motion. On the seat opposite sat his valet, Parkes, stiff with disapproval, apparently determined to remain so for the entire journey. The news that he was required to sit inside, rather than on the box hobnobbing with his crony the coachman, had been ill received.

Not a chaperon precisely, thought Julian. For a young lady of quality, Parkes would be thoroughly inadequate. For the governess, however, his presence would dampen gossip. Besides which, Julian still felt uneasy about Miss Daventry. Something had sparked between them. Something dangerous, unpredictable. He found himself thinking about her at odd moments, smiling slightly at her stubborn independence.

He should have put her in her place, reminded her of the abyss between them. But that had been impossible with her cool façade shattered. They had spoken as equals. That must never happen again. No matter how much it piqued his interest.

She was just a woman with a temper that she had learned to control. Nothing more. There was no mystery behind the prim glasses that would not upon closer acquaintance fade to mundanity. In the meantime, it was safer to have Parkes, rigid and disapproving, on the opposite seat beside Miss Daventry. If nothing else, it would serve to remind her of the gulf between master and servant.

The carriage drew up outside the Chapel. Glancing out, he discovered Miss Daventry had foiled his plan to assist with her baggage. She was seated on one of a pair of trunks and accompanied by a female of indeterminate age and generous proportions. Julian wondered how the devil the pair of them had got the trunks up the street.

Miss Daventry had stood up. ‘Goodbye, Sukey. Thank you for your help. I wish you would let me—’

‘Oh, go on with you!’ said the woman. She shot a suspicious glance towards the carriage and lowered her voice to the sort of whisper that could cut through an artillery engagement. ‘Now you’re quite sure all’s safe? Can’t trust these lords. Why, only t’other day—’

She broke off as Julian stepped out of the coach. Miss Daventry, he was pleased to note, flushed.

‘I’m sure it will be all right, Sukey,’ she said, darting a glance at Julian. ‘Good morning, my lord.’

‘Good morning, ma’am. My valet is within the coach,’ said Julian, with all the air of a man setting a hungry cat loose in a flock of very plump pigeons. ‘I do hope that allays any fears your friend has.’

The woman’s eyes narrowed as she stepped forwards. ‘Aye, I dare say it might. If so be as he ain’t in your lordship’s pocket, in a manner of speaking. If you are a lordship an’ not some havey-cavey rascal!’ She set her hands on her hips. ‘I ain’t looked after Miss Christy this long for her to be cozened by some flash-talkin’ rogue! Why, only t’other day a chap persuaded a young lady into his carriage and had his wicked way with her. Right there in the carriage! An’ her thinkin’ it was all right an’ tight, just acos he had another lady with him. Lady, hah! Madam, more like!’

‘Ma’am, I assure you that I have no designs upon Miss Daventry’s person,’ he said with commendable gravity. ‘Her brother is known to me and my only object is to convey her to her new position as my stepmother’s companion.’

Sukey snorted. ‘Easy said!’

‘Sukey,’ said Miss Daventry, ‘I am sure it’s all right. Truly.’

Clearly unconvinced, Sukey stalked to the coach and peered in, subjecting the scandalised Parkes to a close inspection. She stepped back, clearing her throat. ‘I dare say it’s all right.’ She looked sternly at Miss Daventry. ‘But you write soon’s you arrive. Vicar’ll read it to me, like he said. And keep writing so’s we know.’

‘Sukey—!’ Miss Daventry appeared completely discomposed.

The older woman scowled. ‘Can’t be too careful, Miss Christy. You do like we said an’ write!’

‘Yes, Sukey,’ said Miss Daventry meekly.

Julian blinked. There was someone in this world to whom Miss Daventry exhibited meekness?

‘This is everything, Miss Daventry?’ he asked, signalling to the groom to jump down.

She looked rather self-conscious. ‘Yes. But one of the trunks is only books, so if there is not room—’

‘There is enough room,’ he told her.

The groom hefted one trunk into the boot along with the valise. The other trunk was strapped on the back.

Sukey came forwards and enveloped Miss Daventry in a hug. To Julian’s amazement the hug was returned, fiercely.

Finally Sukey stepped back, wiping her eyes. ‘Well, I’m sure I hope it’ll all be as you say. You be a good girl. Your mam ‘ud be real proud of you. You take care, Miss Christy.’

‘I will. You have the keys safe?’

‘Aye. I’ll give ’em to that agent fellow. Off you go, then.’

Ignoring Julian’s outstretched hand, Miss Daventry stepped into the coach and settled herself beside the valet.

Julian found himself facing judge and jury. He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Sukey. You may rest assured that Miss Daventry is safe.’

Sukey accepted the proffered hand, after first wiping her own upon her skirt. ‘I dare say. Miss Christy—Miss Daventry—she’s a lady. Just you remember that, my lord. I’m sure I hope there’s no offence.’

‘None at all,’ Julian assured her.

He stepped into the coach and sat opposite Miss Daventry. They moved off and Miss Daventry leaned out of the window, waving until they turned the corner and she sat back in her seat. Her mouth was firmly set, her expression unmoved. Yet something glimmered, trapped between her cheek and the glass of her spectacles. Julian watched, wondering if her emotions might get the better of her, but Miss Daventry’s formidable self- control prevailed.

Relieved she was not about to burst into tears, he performed the introductions. ‘My valet, Parkes, Miss Daventry. Parkes, this is Miss Daventry, who is to be companion to her ladyship and also assist as governess at times.’

Miss Daventry smiled. ‘How do you do, Parkes?’

‘Very well, thank you, miss.’ And Parkes relapsed into the proper silence he considered appropriate when circumstances dictated that he should intrude upon his betters.

Seated in his corner of the carriage, Julian picked up his book and began to read. There was no point in dwelling on the fierce loyalty Miss Daventry had inspired in her servant. Nor her obvious emotion at Sukey’s protectiveness. Of course Miss Daventry had feelings. Nothing surprising nor interesting in that. Her feelings were her own business. He had not the least reason to feel shaken by that solitary tear.

On the other side of the carriage Christy watched as his lordship disappeared into the book. She had not bothered to have a book to hand. If she dared to read in a carriage, the results would be embarrassing. Especially facing backwards.

She steeled herself to the prospect of a boring journey. There was no possibility of conversation with the elderly, dapper little valet. He had all the hallmarks of a long-standing family retainer. He would not dream of chattering on in the presence of his master, even if Christy herself did not fall into that limbo reserved for governesses and companions. She knew from experience that her life would be lived in isolation, neither truly a member of the family, nor part of the servants’ hall. Neither above stairs, nor below. An odd thought came to her of generation after generation of ghostly governesses and companions, doomed to a grey existence on the half-landings. Just as well, too. It made her preferred reserve far easier to maintain.

Her stomach churned slightly, but she breathed deeply and otherwise ignored it. It was partly due to tiredness. With all the work of packing up the house, she had scarcely had more than five hours sleep a night, and last night she had barely slept at all. She never could sleep properly the night before a journey, for dreaming that the coach had gone without her and she was running after it, crying out for it to wait, not to abandon her…

She wondered if she dared lower the window and lean out. No. It would be presumptuous, and she would become sadly rumpled and dusty. Not at all ladylike. She set herself to endure, leaning back and closing her eyes.

Leaving Gloucester midway through the second day, Julian knew Miss Daventry was not a good traveller. He had without comment lowered all the windows. Not that she complained, or asked for any halts. But he could imagine no other explanation for the white, set look about her mouth, or that when they stopped, she would accept nothing beyond weak, black tea. She hadn’t eaten a great deal of dinner or breakfast either.

He knew the signs from personal experience, only he had outgrown the tendency. There was little he could do about it, he thought, watching her. She was pale, and her eyes were closed, a faint frown between her brows. Oh, hell! ‘Miss Daventry?’

‘My lord?’ The eyes opened. He blinked, still not used to their effect. The shadows beneath them were darker today than yesterday. It shouldn’t bother him. Noblesse oblige, he assured himself. Nothing personal.

‘Miss Daventry, perhaps you might change seats with me?’

Somehow she sat a little straighter. ‘I am very well here, my lord. Thank you.’

He was not supposed to feel admiration—she was the governess- companion, for heavens’ sake! His voice devoid of expression, he said, ‘I think “well” is the last word that applies to you at this moment. Certainly not “very well”. Come, exchange places with me.’ Determined to expunge any misleading suggestion of personal feeling, he added, ‘I cannot sit here any longer feeling guilty.’

Blushing, she complied, scrambling across past him.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, still slightly pink.