A Lady's Point of View (9 page)

In spare moments, when the
children were absorbed in their books, she wondered about Germaine Geraint.
Friday-faced, Helen had called her, but a great gun, too. The marquis must care
for her, if he planned to marry her. Such was the gossip even among the
servants, for Miss Geraint and her parents were invited to visit in three
weeks’ time.

I hope she will suit him,
Meg thought.
He deserves the best possible wife.

She pushed away the idea that she
could have been happy with such a man as this. For what did she really know of
his soul? And if he had chosen Miss Geraint, surely it was from love. She was
grateful for this chance to know him, and hence to learn a little more about herself,
and to grow closer to the children. At least she could find some happiness
during this interlude, which was more than would be possible in Derby.

On. Friday Mrs. Franklin fetched
Meg three letters from the village post. One, from her mother, expressed
surprise and pleasure at the news that Meg was so well situated for the summer.

The second, from Helen, similarly conveyed good
wishes, along with a piercing account of the rude behaviour of Lady Darnet at
Vauxhall. It also announced that a garden party at the Cockerells’ Kensington
home would introduce Angela to society.

How typically generous of Helen,
Meg thought as she turned to open the letter from her sister.

“Dearest Meg,” Angela wrote, “Mother has explained
to me the strictures of our finances. I hope you won’t mind that we have made
over your old dresses for me.”

Mind indeed, silly goose!
Meg read on, and was startled to learn of the conversation between Edward
Cockerell and her sister at Vauxhall.

“I don’t think he will tell
anyone about your eyes,” Angela wrote. “Pray forgive me, but I could not allow
him to think so ill of you.”

Stiff cheese. Meg remembered
Helen’s description of her brother, and laughed, picturing him confronted by
the irascible Angela. The girl leaped readily to the defence of those she
loved, and perhaps her doing so had proved fortunate. Else Edward might not
have agreed to the garden party.

She folded the letters away
carefully. They would be answered that same night, and Meg regretted that she
must tell lies. She supposed she might invent two children for her imaginary
friend—whom she had already described as married—and so draw upon the real
antics of Tom and Vanessa.

She really should put a stop to
this nonsense, she told herself. She ought to tell everyone the truth, and go
home. Perhaps at this juncture they would consider her actions a mere
eccentricity.

She had resolved to confront her
employer on Saturday. However, that morning, as Meg and the children assembled
for their reading, Lord Bryn strode into the schoolroom.

“No lessons today,” he declared.
“We’re going on a picnic.”

Meg’s spirits rose. She longed to
see something of the countryside with the aid of her newly acquired spectacles.
Let the children have their fun, and that evening she would confide her errors
to Lord Bryn.

A barouche awaited them in front
of the house, its top folded down and a coachman perched in his high seat. The
horses, Meg noted through the glasses, were a perfectly matched pair of
chestnuts.

“Shall we go to Marple?” Vanessa
asked as her uncle handed her into the carriage. “I need new ribbons and
laces.”

“And emeralds and rubies?”
inquired his lordship with a lift of the eyebrow. “Up you go, Tom.”

“Can’t I ride with Coachman?”
demanded the little boy. “I want to take the reins!”

Meg laughed. “They’ve no scruples
about asking for what they want, have they?” She laid her hand atop the
marquis’s as he assisted her, and wondered at the warmth that brightened her
cheeks at his touch.

“I don’t call that asking.” Lord
Bryn climbed up to sit beside Tom and signalled Coachman to be off. “I call
that ordering, don’t you, Miss Linley?”

“Indeed.” Meg placed a
restraining hand on the bouncing Tom while informing Vanessa, “Ladies do not
insist that gentlemen purchase items for them.”

“He’s not a gentleman! He’s Uncle
Andrew,” was the reply, at which the adults exchanged amused glances.

It was a splendid day for an
outing, and Meg revelled in the newfound privilege of being able to see her
surroundings. Each tree and cloud, each flower and bird was a marvellous
discovery. To Meg, the barouche travelled through a wonderful landscape filled
with previously unsuspected details and hues.

“You take an unusual interest in
the scenery,” observed the marquis.

His deep voice rumbled through
Meg’s bones, nearly unnerving her. Whyever was she reacting in this childish
manner? Doing her best to retain her composure, she said, “As I have explained,
I cannot see well, and these lenses have opened a new world to me.”

“Indeed?” His lordship frowned.
“I had thought the thing merely an affectation.”

He reached across and lifted the
devices from her face. As Meg had affixed them to a long black velvet ribbon
about her neck for fear of losing them, this required that she lean toward him.

Bryn removed the spectacles
quickly. “Maddening,” he said. “They distort.”

“Do they?” said Meg,
straightening. “I believe they correct distortion where any exists.” However,
aware that the glasses did little for her appearance, she do not replace them
upon her nose.

His lordship regarded her pensively,
taking advantage of the children’s absorption in spying rabbits among the tufts
of grass. “What is your age, Miss Linley?”

Meg knew she was much too young
to be a governess, but she would not give him a direct lie. “Nineteen, my
lord,” she said.

“Nineteen?” The marquis stared in
disbelief. “Whatever can Standish have been thinking?”

Meg swallowed, and took the
opportunity to say, “I fear I must correct a misunderstanding. You see...”

“A fox!” Vanessa jumped to her
feet.

As she spoke, a small, red-coated
animal darted almost beneath the hooves of the horses, which shied. The young
girl would have been tossed into the road and perhaps severely injured but for
the speed with which her uncle seized her.

Amid Vanessa’s squeals and Tom’s
yells, the barouche jerked to a halt.

“Oh, my!” the girl gasped.
“Please let me get down. My legs are trembling! Tom, can you see that?” She
raised her skirt, curiosity overwhelming any trace of modesty,

“You call that trembling?”
snorted Tom. “When I had the fever last winter, I shivered so much the bed
shook.’’

“Pooh! You’re making that up.”

“I think we shall eat our
luncheon here,” remarked the marquis calmly.

“Vanessa, you must never stand up
in an open carriage again,” scolded Meg as they descended to the ground.
Despite the children’s nonsensical argument, her heart still thudded painfully.

“I shan’t, Miss Linley. But
wasn’t I trembling mightily?” The child bounced to the ground, the lesson was
already forgotten.

Coachman spread out a blanket for
them beside a stream, where overhanging trees blocked the midday sun. The
driver took himself off to enjoy his own lunch.

In the basket Cook had prepared,
Meg found cold chicken, fruit, wine, and peach tarts. Before eating, the
children raced each other up and back along the waterway, but afterward, with
their stomachs full, they dozed on the grass.

“How peaceful they look,” Meg
observed. The domesticity of the scene reawakened her longings with a stab of
pain.

“You are very good with them,
despite your youth, Miss Linley,” said the marquis.

She smiled, her gaze meeting his
in shared affection for the youngsters. Here was an opportunity to confide the
truth. Meg swallowed hard against a sudden nervousness. “Do you remember what I
told you when I arrived?”

He reflected for a moment. “No,
I’m afraid I do not.”

“That tale of being a lady who
had mistaken your carriage for a post chaise?” she prompted.

“Ah.” A smile warmed the darkness
of his eyes. “Indeed I do.”

“Suppose it were true?” Meg
asked. “Suppose I were not a governess at all, but someone of good family:”

“Are you flirting with me, Miss
Linley?” he asked with mock sternness.

She blushed. “I didn’t intend it,
my lord.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” To her
confusion he reached over and lifted her hand, turning it in his and examining
the palm. “A delicate hand. What is your story, Miss Linley? Were you orphaned,
perhaps?”

“My father died when I was
young,” she admitted, “and my mother has fallen upon hard times. I have a
younger sister whom I dearly love and hope to see well married.”

“But not yourself?” He retained
her hand in his.

“Me?” Meg feigned lightness of
spirit. “Oh, perhaps when I am older.”

“You like children.” It was not a
question but a statement. “And you are quite fetching, my dear, if you will
forgive my boldness. I cannot imagine why you should have chosen to take this
post so far from town.”

“Nor can I,” she said. “It was
not precisely a decision so much as an accident, my lord.”

“Selecting the wrong carriage?”
he teased. His face was very near.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I had
meant to tell you
 
“

His lips grazed hers, ever so
softly. “Forgive the liberty,” he murmured, still without releasing her hand.
“I know you’re a respectable young woman, Miss Linley, but you’re the first
person I’ve met in two years, aside from the children, who can make me forget
the past.”

Meg knew she shouldn’t be sitting
here, shouldn’t have permitted the highly improper kiss, but her mouth would
not speak, and her knees would not obey her will. She could neither stand nor
protest, only sit gazing mutely into his soul.

I could love such a man,
she
thought.
If I dared.

But at this moment, she no longer
felt certain that love was a matter of choice.

Lord Bryn found himself in a
quandary. Until the past few days, he had imagined his life neatly pigeonholed,
and his future guarded against any unwanted emotion.

There would be a marriage to Miss
Geraint, or if she declined his offer, to someone else with the same
uncomplicated nature. The lady might spend part of her year in London, if she
wished; they would maintain separate bedchambers, of course, except for the
need to produce an heir.

Not that Lord Bryn lacked the
normal urges of a young man, but he had long ago learned to suppress them. To
allow anyone to come close was to expose himself to even more pain, and to risk
losing what little remained of his pride.

Now danger had come from an
unforeseen quarter. He needed a governess for the children, and had been
delighted to find Miss Linley so well adapted. But now...

His conduct today was not only
unorthodox, but objectionable. The woman should have slapped his face after
that kiss. Did she fear losing her position and being turned away without
references? He would never forgive himself if he were taking advantage of her
vulnerability. But in her gentle eyes he saw no unhappiness, only warmth.

Did she feel as he did? Or was he
mistaken, and this Miss Linley a woman of dubious character? In any event, she
was surely unsuitable to be his wife. How then could he nurse such tender
feelings for her?

Disturbed by his reflections, the
marquis jumped to his feet and began to stroll along the bank, pretending to
study the patterns of ripples and the silver swirl of fish. He should send her
away. But on what pretext? The children would be horrified, though Miss Linley
might have just reason to wish herself far from his presence.

No, he must find some better
solution. If, for example, she were to marry, all problems would be solved.

Andrew did not like that
prospect, but he had to concede that it was an excellent idea, and would serve
both his purpose and the children’s. If Miss Linley were to marry someone who
lived in the neighbourhood, she might continue to work here on a daily basis
without risk to her character. Under such circumstances, the marquis concluded,
she would be protected against his weakness.

“Miss Linley.” He returned to sit
beside the young woman, who appeared perplexed. He had not meant to leave her
so abruptly, but he had needed time to sort his thoughts.

“Yes, my lord?” How sweet and trusting she appeared.

“There is an entertainment
planned for tonight at the home of Squire Roberts, who owns the estate that
marches with mine,” said Lord Bryn, who until this moment had intended to send
the squire his regrets. “The invitation was meant to include my household, and
as you are now a part of it, I believed you might enjoy making new
acquaintances.”

A troubled expression crossed the
young woman’s face.

“You need not go if you do not
wish it,” he hurried to add.

“The people who will attend all
live hereabouts?” asked Miss Linley. “They are not from London, by any chance?”

“No,” he replied, puzzled.

“As I mentioned, my family has
come down in the world, and I wouldn’t wish the embarrassment of encountering
some old acquaintance,” she explained. “But since that isn’t likely to occur,
I’m pleased to accept your generous offer.”

Lord Bryn smiled warmly at the
prospect of the evening ahead. They might even dance together, although not
more than once. But it would be enough to hold her in his arms and whirl her
gently through a waltz.

Then he remembered that the
object of this exercise was to find Miss Linley a suitable husband. Damnation!
The fellow had better appreciate her, or he would have to answer to Andrew
Davis.

“Coachman!” called his lordship.
His loud voice awakened the children, who stirred sleepily. “It’s time to go
home!”