More Than a Governess

‘We met once or twice, when I called on her father. That is all.’ Sir Richard laughed. ‘You need not worry, Damon. She was never one of my intrigues. Her reputation was—and is, I am sure—spotless.’ He bent his shrewd gaze upon his host. ‘Perhaps you have an interest there yourself?’

Damon thought of the little governess in her dull clothes with her soft brown hair braided so modestly around her head. ‘Not my line at all, my friend. She might be quite pretty, if she were dressed up.’ He sipped his wine, imagining the girl in an evening gown. Silk, he thought. It would cling to her slender body. And emerald green, to match her eyes, eyes that could suddenly gleam with mischief. He gave himself a little mental shake. ‘No, I’ve no interest there, Rick. It has never been my way to tamper with innocents, or raise false hopes.’

‘No, your taste has always been for more dashing beauties, eh, Devil Collingham?’

Damon laughed. ‘Will I never live down that damned Brussels party?’

‘It would appear not, my friend. The stories grow more outrageous every time they are retold.’

Damon shook his head. ‘We were at war and a little reckless. Who wants such stories now? The war ended over a year ago.’

‘But it pleases the ladies to remember. And it seems you did please ’em, Damon, the married ones, at least.’

‘Safer that way.’ The Major raised his glass. ‘They know I don’t offer ’em marriage. A flirtation, a little pleasure on both sides, then we go our separate ways.’

‘Like Lady Ormiston? You were very close when you came home for the Peace Celebrations in ’fourteen.’

‘That affair lasted only as long as the peace,’ said Damon, his lip curling. ‘Veronique is indeed a beauty, but she has a heart of stone.’

‘You make a fine pair, then,’ retorted Sir Richard, smiling faintly. ‘Ormiston is still playing least in sight. It seems he prefers his Scottish acres to living with his wife. I believe she has young Leeson paying court to her now; they say he’s besotted.’

‘Silly young fool.’ The Major lifted the decanter again. ‘We might as well finish this off before we go into dinner. For God’s sake, sit down, man, and you can tell me the real reason you are here.’

Sir Richard lowered himself into an armchair on one side of the empty fireplace. ‘I am chasing diamonds, dear boy.’

‘The devil you are! Is that what brings you back to England?’

‘Yes. Bonaparte’s followers have been trying to raise a force to free him from St Helena. From the letters we have intercepted we know that the Princess Borghese donated a pair of diamond earrings to the cause.’

The Major raised his black brows. ‘Bonaparte’s sister? How was she persuaded to part with them?’

‘No idea, my friend. Her passion for jewels is legendary—the Emperor himself acquired these stones in Egypt and had them made up into ear-drops for the princess. Perhaps she wanted to make a gesture of sisterly devotion.’

‘Then it would be her first! More likely one of her other—ah—admirers persuaded her to be generous.’

‘One of her lovers, you mean? Possibly. In any event, the diamonds were sent from Italy to Paris. We arrested a number of conspirators, but the gems had already been moved on.’

‘Did you identify the courier?’

‘No. We caught one or two suspects at the coast, but it seems the diamonds were hidden in rolls of cloth bound for London. We have traced the consignment and are going through all the delivery papers and bills of exchange, but that is slow work. I am investigating other possibilities.’ He crossed one elegantly shod foot over the other. ‘One thing is certain: the diamonds have not been sold. I have my contacts in the markets and there is not a whisper of such fine stones being available.’

‘What is their value?’

‘Enough to buy and fit out a ship to take Bonaparte off St Helena.’ He studied his wine glass. ‘I was going to ask you to help me track them down.’

‘Alas, Rick, I am leaving town on Friday. Besides, I am no longer in the army.’

‘True, but you do have an uncanny ability to ferret out information. Oh, never fear, I have some very clever fellows looking for these gems, so I shall find ’em.’ He finished his wine. ‘Now, you had best take me to meet the lovely Louisa, since I am joining you for my dinner.’

Nurse and the children were gathered in the schoolroom when Juliana went in, and she found herself facing a row of expectant faces.

‘Tomorrow,’ she announced, ‘we are going shopping. We shall make a list of everything we need for the schoolroom; we seem to be especially deficient of books.’ She saw their horrified looks and burst out laughing. ‘Do not look so shocked, it will not be so bad, I promise you.’ She swept Amy up into her arms. ‘There will be plenty of time for playing games, too.’

‘Miss Sevenoaks said games were for babies,’ scoffed Gwendoline.

‘Then I pity her pupils,’ chuckled Juliana. She looked around as the door opened.

A young man walked in. Despite his light brown hair he was so much a younger version of her employer that Juliana guessed immediately his identity. His first words confirmed it.

‘My father said I should come up and make myself known to you. I am Giles Collingham.’

Juliana immediately brought her brother and sister forward to be introduced.

‘You have been with your friends today, I understand?’

‘Yes, which is why Papa has said I should join you for dinner, and get to know you, since we will be travelling together.’

‘Oh, poor you.’ Juliana gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘How dull for you to be consigned to the schoolroom.’

Giles coloured a little. ‘Yes, well, it is not so bad, you know.’

‘I am sure you would prefer to be dining with Papa when you know who is with him,’ put in Gwendoline as they took their places for dinner. She cast a quick, triumphant look around the table. ‘Sir Richard Mondwyck! Nelly told me he walked in, bold as brass, and directed Fraser to set another place for him.’

Nurse tutted. ‘Now, Miss Gwendoline, you should not be listening to servants’ gossip, nor repeating it, neither.’

‘I’ll wager Aunt Louisa will be in high dudgeon,’ grinned Giles, ignoring Nurse’s mild strictures.

‘Oh, he will turn her up sweet,’ returned his sister, giggling. ‘She thinks he is a charmer.’

‘Enough, if you please,’ said Juliana firmly. ‘Such talk shows little respect for your aunt or your father’s guest.’

Giles flushed and Gwendoline scowled across the table at her governess.

Wilhelmina looked up. ‘Sir Richard was in the Peninsula with Papa, was he not, Giles? But he was only a mister then.’

‘He was knighted last year, for services to the country,’ said Giles. ‘Father says he is an intelligence officer, collecting information against our enemies.’

‘A spy!’ Gwendoline’s eyes grew round.

‘If he is, then it is perhaps best we do not talk of it,’ responded Juliana. ‘Wilhelmina, shall I help you with your napkin?’

Juliana thought back to Sir Richard’s visits to her father, the bound notebooks and closeted meetings. Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense.

While the soup was being served there was a sudden clatter to Juliana’s right, where Wilhelmina was sitting.

‘Oh, dear, Minna,’ said Nurse. ‘You have dropped your spoon.’

‘I’ll get it!’ Gwendoline was out of her seat and racing around the table.