Not Just a Governess

‘Nevertheless, he is to marry,’ the dowager duchess dismissed airily. ‘And if we do not see to the marriage of our respective grandsons, then who will? My own daughter-in-law is of absolutely no help whatsoever in that enterprise, since she retired to the country following my son Robert’s demise three years ago. And Royston certainly shows no inclination himself to give up his habit of acquiring a mistress for several weeks before swiftly growing bored with her and moving on to the next.’ She gave loud sniff.

Miss Eleanor Rosewood—Ellie—stepniece and companion to the dowager duchess, glanced across from where she sat quietly by the window with the two companions of Lady Cicely and Lady Jocelyn, knowing that sniff only too well: it conveyed the dowager duchess’s disapproval on every occasion.

But Ellie could not help but feel a certain amount of sympathy towards Lady Cicely’s dilemma; Lord Adam Hawthorne was known by all, including the numerous servants employed on his many estates, for being both cold and haughty, as well as totally unapproachable.

So much so that it must be far from easy for Lady Cicely to even broach the subject of her grandson remarrying, despite his first marriage having only produced a daughter and no heir, let alone finding a woman who was agreeable to becoming the second wife of such an icily sarcastic gentleman.

Oh, it would have its compensations, no doubt; his lordship was a wealthy gentleman—very wealthy indeed—and more handsome than any single gentleman had a right to be, with glossy black hair and eyes of deep impenetrable grey set in a hard and arrogantly aristocratic face, his shoulders and chest muscled, waist tapered, legs long and strong.

Unfortunately, his character was also icy enough to chill the blood in any woman’s veins, hence the reason he was known amongst the ton as simply Thorne!

Hawthorne’s cold nature aside, Ellie was far more interested in the dowager duchess’s efforts to find a bride for her own grandson, Justin St Just, Duke of Royston…

‘Adam is proving most unhelpful, I am afraid.’ Lady Cicely sighed. ‘He has refused each and every one of my invitations for him to dine here with me one evening.’

The dowager duchess raised iron-grey brows. ‘On what basis?’

Lady Cicely grimaced. ‘He claims he is too busy…’

Edith St Just snorted. ‘The man has to eat like other mortals, does he not?’

‘One would presume so, yes…’ Lady Cicely gave another sigh.

‘Well, you must not give up trying, Cicely,’ the dowager duchess advised most strongly. ‘If Hawthorne will not come to you, then you must go to him.’

Lady Cicely looked alarmed. ‘Go to him?’

‘Call upon him at Hawthorne House.’ The dowager duchess urged. ‘And insist that he join you here for dinner that same evening.’

‘I will try, Edith.’ Lady Cicely looked far from convinced of her likely success. ‘But do tell us, how goes your own efforts in regard to Royston’s future bride? Well, I hope?’ She brightened. ‘Let us not forget that a week ago you wrote that lady’s name down on a piece of paper and gave it to Jocelyn’s butler for safekeeping!’

The dowager duchess gave a haughty inclination of her head. ‘And, as you will see, that is the young lady he will marry, when the time comes.’

‘I do so envy you, when I have to deal with Adam’s complete lack of co-operation in that regard…’ Lady Cicely looked totally miserable.

‘Hawthorne will come around, you will see.’ Lady Jocelyn gave her friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

Ellie, easily recalling the forbidding countenance of the man, remained as unconvinced of that as did the poor, obviously beleaguered Lady Cicely…

‘Oh, do let’s talk of other things!’ Lady Jocelyn encouraged brightly. ‘For instance, have either of you heard the latest rumour concerning the Duke of Sheffield’s missing granddaughter?’

‘Oh, do tell!’ Lady Cicely encouraged avidly.

Ellie added her own, silent, urging to Lady Cicely’s; the tale of the missing granddaughter of the recently deceased Duke of Sheffield had been the talk both below and above stairs for most of the Season, the duke having died very suddenly two months ago, to be succeeded by his nephew. The previous duke’s granddaughter and ward had disappeared on the day following his funeral, at the same time as the Sheffield family jewels and several thousand pounds had also gone missing.

‘I try never to listen to idle gossip.’ The dowager duchess gave another of her famous sniffs.

‘Oh, but this is not in the least idle, Edith,’ Lady Jocelyn assured. ‘Miss Matthews has been seen on the Continent, in the company of a gentleman, and living a life of luxury. Further igniting the rumour that she may have had something to do with the Duke’s untimely death, as well as the theft of the Sheffield jewels and money.’

‘I cannot believe that any granddaughter of Jane Matthews would ever behave so reprehensively,’ Edith St Just stated firmly.

‘But the gel’s mother was Spanish, remember.’ Lady Cicely gave her two friends a pointed glance.

‘Hmm, there is that to consider, Edith.’ Lady Jocelyn mused.

‘Stuff and nonsense,’ the dowager duchess dismissed briskly. ‘Maria Matthews was the daughter of a grandee and I refuse to believe her daughter guilty of anything unless proven otherwise.’

Which, as Ellie knew only too well, was now the end of that particular subject.

Although she knew that many in society, and below stairs, speculated as to why, if she truly were innocent, Miss Magdelena Matthews had disappeared, along with the Sheffield jewels and money, the day of her grandfather’s funeral…

Chapter Two

One day later—Hawthorne House, May-

fair, London

‘Do not scowl so, Adam, else I will think you are not at all pleased to see me!’

That displeasure glinted in Lord Hawthorne’s narrowed grey eyes and showed in his harshly patrician face, as he heard the rebuke in his grandmother’s quiet tone. Nor was she wrong about his current displeasure being caused by her unexpected arrival; he had neither the time nor the patience for the twittering of Lady Cicely this afternoon. Or any afternoon, come to that! ‘I am only surprised you are visiting me now, Grandmother, when I know you are fully aware this is the time of day that I retire to the nursery in order to spend half an hour with Amanda.’

His grandmother arched silver brows beneath her pale-green bonnet as the two faced each across the blue salon of Adam’s Mayfair home. ‘And may I not also wish to visit with my great-granddaughter?’

‘Well, yes, of course you may.’ Adam belatedly strode across the room to bestow a kiss upon one of his grandmother’s powdered cheeks. ‘It is only that I would have appreciated prior notice of your visit.’

‘Why?’

He scowled darkly. ‘My time is at a premium, Grandmother, nor do I care to have my routine interrupted.’

‘And I have just stated that I have no wish to interrupt anything,’ she reminded him quietly.

‘Nevertheless, you are—’ Adam broke off his impatient outburst, aware that his grandmother’s unexpected arrival had already made him four minutes late arriving at the nursery. ‘Well, you are here now, so by all means accompany me, if you wish to.’ He nodded abruptly as he wrenched open the salon door—much to Barnes’s surprise, as the butler stood attentively on the other side of that door—for his grandmother to precede him from the room.

‘You really are the most impatient of men, Adam.’ Lady Cicely swept past him into the grand hallway, indicating with a nod that her paid companion should wait there for her return. ‘I do not believe even your grandfather and father were ever as irritable as you.’

Adam placed a gentlemanly hand beneath his grandmother’s elbow as he escorted her up the wide staircase, in the full knowledge that Lady Cicely’s overly fussy nature—to put it kindly!—had irked his grandfather and father as much, if not more, as it now did him. Nevertheless, his grandfather and father were no longer with them, leaving Lady Cicely alone in the world but for himself and Amanda, and so it fell to Adam, as the patriarch of the family, to at least attempt kindness towards his elderly relative. ‘I apologise if my abruptness of manner has offended you,’ he said.

His grandmother released her elbow from his grasp to instead tuck her hand more cosily into the crook of his arm. ‘Perhaps as recompense you might consider dining with me this evening…?’

Adam stiffened as he easily recognised Lady Cicely’s less-than-subtle attempt at coercion; he hesitated to call it actual blackmail, although he could not help but be aware of his grandmother’s recent attempts to introduce him to suitably marriageable ladies—suitable according to Lady Cicely, that was. Adam was having none of it. The ladies. Or the marriage. ‘I have to attend a vote in the House tonight, Grandmother.’ After which he fully intended to retire to his club for the rest of the evening, where he hoped to enjoy a few quiet games of cards and several glasses of fine brandy.

‘Then perhaps tomorrow evening?’ Lady Cicely pressed. ‘It is so long since the two of us spent any time together…’

Deliberately so, on Adam’s part, since he had realised what his grandmother was about. He had absolutely no interest in marrying again and his life really was now such that he had little time for anything other than his responsibilities to the House of Lords and his many estates. The dinners and balls, and all the other nonsense of the Season, held no interest for him whatsoever.

‘We are together now, Grandmother,’ he pointed out practically.

‘But not in any way that—never mind.’ Lady Cicely sighed her impatience. ‘It is obvious to me that you have become even more intransigent than you ever were!’