A Most Unusual Governess (11 page)

Sarah gave a sigh.

So Nelly has a crush on Mr Haversage, too, she thought. Along with every other maid in the building! Nelly must have caught sight of him in the rose gardens and decided that Sarah's room would be an excellent spot from which to moon over him.

Well, at least the mystery was solved.

She left the window open and was just going over to the washstand when something white and fluttering caught her eye, something that had fallen down the back of one of the cushions that were comfortably arranged on the window seat. Curious, she pulled it out from behind the cushion. As soon as she realised what it was her eyes went to the door, through which Nelly had just departed. The item was a letter; one of the letters Sarah's brother had written to her during her stay at the Grange.

She picked it up and turned it between her fingers, her lips pursed. She never left her brother's letters lying about. She always put them away in her desk.

Could she have forgotten to put this one away? She didn't think so. Then could Nelly have taken the letter out of her desk?

It was possible. But why should she? What possible interest could Nelly have in Sarah's letters? And why would she have risked instant dismissal — for Sarah knew Lord Randall well enough to know that he would not tolerate dishonesty - to look at a letter which could have no possible interest for her?

Crossing the room, Sarah put the letter back in her desk. She closed the top of the desk but then hesitated before leaving it. She did not know why Nelly had been prying and she was uncomfortable with the thought that the maid might try the same thing again. She did not want to have Nelly dismissed - the girl came from a poor family and Sarah understood the hardships of poverty only too well - but she did not want the same thing to happen again. She could talk to Nelly herself, but there was no guarantee the girl would listen to a lecture from her.

But Nelly would listen to Mrs Smith.

After thinking the matter over, Sarah decided to tell the housekeeper what had happened. The maids were Mrs Smith's responsibility and a stern word from her should be enough to stop Nelly overstepping the mark again.

Sarah left her room and made her way along the passage to the housekeeper's room. She was just passing the turning to the picture gallery, which was situated in the west wing of the house, when she heard the sound of Peter's voice. She stopped, surprised: Peter should surely be in bed.

But no. She had not stayed out by the lake as long as usual tonight, which was why Nelly had not expected to be discovered, and there were still ten minutes or so before the nurse would send Peter to bed.

She was about to go on but she was surprised to hear that Peter was talking to Lord Randall, and a minute later she realised that he was excitedly telling Lord Randall about a small concert the children were preparing for the house party, as a treat for the guests.

She smiled. It had been William's idea to arrange a concert, and one she had been glad to encourage. The children had set to with a will, Lucy learning a pretty little song called The Waterfall, and the two boys learning passages from Milton and Shakespeare. Sarah had enjoyed helping them to learn the music and poetry with which to entertain their father's guests.

'... been practising a speech for the concert,' Peter was saying enthusiastically.

A month ago, Peter would not have dared speak to Lord Randall so confidently and openly, and Sarah felt a real sense of satisfaction at the difference the last few weeks had made.

But her sense of satisfaction turned to surprise a minute later as she heard Lord Randall's reply. That's impossible, Peter. The house party isn't for children. It's for adult guests.'

'But -' Peter began to protest. His tone was bewildered.

Sarah, too, felt bewildered as she overheard what was being said.

'No arguments,' said Lord Randall.

Impossible man! thought Sarah, angry at Lord Randall's high-handed attitude and full of sympathy for the disappointment that dripped from Peter's every word. She had thought that Lord Randall's attitude to the children had really improved, but, if the present conversation was anything to go by, it hadn't changed a bit.

I've been practising for weeks sir,' protested Peter. 'And so has -'

'Peter,' said Lord Randall firmly. 1 said "no." Now go to your room. It is high time you were in bed.'

Sarah was incensed. She had worked hard over the last few weeks to give the children some sort of confidence, and she was not going to have that work ruined by Lord Randall in a single night.

As she turned the corner she was just in time to see Peter walking out of the door of the gallery at the far end. His shoulders were drooping and he was clearly much upset.

There was no need to speak to Peter like that,' she said.

'Miss Davenport!' Lord Randall turned towards her with a start. He had been so engrossed in his thoughts that he had not heard her enter the long picture gallery.

*You could have let him down gently,' she said accusingly. There was no need for you to be so hard. Peter has spent weeks rehearsing a speech from A Midsummer Night's Dream,' went on Sarah. 'He has worked and worked at the difficult language and he has done it because he wants to make you proud of him. And William and Lucy want to make you proud of them, too. They have been rehearsing a selection of music and poetry so that they can put on an entertainment for your guests.'

They weren't asked to put on an entertainment,' said Lord Randall irritably.

'And what has that to do with it?' Sarah challenged him. 'Are they never to show any initiative? Are they never to think of anything for themselves? Are they never to try and make you proud of them?'

He sighed.

You're right,' he acknowledged. 'I was harsh with Peter. I didn't mean to be, but I have a lot on my mind at the moment. One of the tenant farmers has just come to me with news of poachers and there has been trouble with the irrigation system for the low-lying fields.' And I am no nearer

to discovering the identity of the radicals, he thought. 'On top of everything else,' he went on, 'one of my favourite mares has been taken ill and no one knows why. Even the horse doctor is puzzled.'

That is no excuse,' said Sarah, although she was relieved to learn that she had not been mistaken in her belief that he had improved since her arrival. It was good to know that he truly had become more comfortable with the children, and that he was already regretting his unintentional bad humour.

'Again, you're right, but I have so little experience of children that I still forget from time to time how easily their feelings can be hurt,' he said. Which is why, although you have been a thorn in my side at times, I have been grateful to you for telling me where I have been going wrong. I never mean to be unkind, but I am used to dealing with soldiers - hardened men - not children who haven't left the schoolroom. I am getting better at understanding them, but I still have a lot to learn. It was different when their parents were alive. But you don't know about that,' he said. Then, considering, he said, 'I think you should.'

He waved for her to be seated and then sat likewise.

They are my nephews and niece, as you know, the children of my younger brother, Thomas. I have been in the army for most of my adult life, and when I was on leave I spent my time in London and not in Kent, so that I very rarely saw them. They had their father and mother to look after them, and a doting grandfather, so that they did not need their uncle. It was not until Thomas and Caroline, his wife, were killed a few years ago in a carriage accident that the children were orphaned.'

'I'm sorry,' said Sarah. Her voice showed her genuine concern.

'It was a tragedy,' he acknowledged. The children became my father's wards, but when he died shortly afterwards they became mine. Fortunately, Napoleon had at last been defeated, and I was free to come home to look after the estate.' He paused. 'And the children.'

Then you have hardly seen them,' said Sarah.

'No,' he said. When I came home they were almost strangers to me. I did my best. The boys had excellent tutors and Lucy had a governess and a nurse. A whole string of governesses!' he admitted. And then added, 'But never one who cared for her as you have done. And never one who told me how I, too, should care for them.'

I never doubted that you cared for them. I just wondered why you didn t show it.

'I didn't know how to.' He gave a rueful smile. It is a lot more difficult than I had supposed. But I'm learning,' he said. 'And that's thanks to you. I have so much to thank you for, Sarah. You have reminded me that life isn't all about work and duty, and that I can enjoy being with the children, rather than just viewing them as responsibilities.'

A breeze blew in from the open window and a strand of Sarah's hair blew loose of its pins and across her face. He reached out his hand instinctively and brushed it back into place. As his fingers glided over her cheekbone they left a streak of searing heat behind them and she felt as though his hands were made of flame. She trembled, and suddenly the air was heavily charged, as though there was going to be a thunder storm. She felt her lips part of their own accord and her eyes closed. She could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the musky scent of him, a mixture of leather and stables and sweet cologne. The sensation of his nearness was all-consuming and drove everything else out of her mind... . until the sound of footsteps forced their way through her dreamy haze.

He heard them, too, and drew back. Someone was approaching the gallery.

A moment later the butler appeared.

'Begging your pardon, my lord,' said Hodgess, *but the head groom says you are needed urgently in the stables.'

Lord Randall nodded.

Thank you, Hodgess,' he said. Tell Dixon I will be there in a minute.'

Hodgess withdrew.

He turned to Sarah, and she saw a curious mixture of emotions cross his face, relief and frustration intermingled at their sudden interruption.

'I have to leave you,' he said.

She nodded. She knew he had to go. Knew, too, that it was better he did. Because if he stayed she did not know what might happen.

For a moment he looked as if he might change his mind and stay after all, but then she saw a change in his face and he strode out of the room. Leaving Sarah alone, trying to make sense of what had happened to her.

Had Lord Randall really been about to kiss her? she wondered. No. She must have imagined it. She had no experience of such things after all; she must have made a mistake. Lord Randall would never kiss a governess.

But even so, she had thought he was going to do so, and she would not have wanted to stop him.

She had never had such perplexing feelings before.

To take her mind off the incident she decided to take a turn around the gallery. It was full of landscapes and portraits. Different views of the Grange predominated along the near wall, together with a number of hunting scenes, whilst portraits of the family occupied the far wall. There hung all Lord Randall's ancestors, the Earl and Countess who had founded the dynasty in the seventeenth century together with all their descendants. All people who had once lived and loved at the Grange.

She stopped in front of the most recent portraits, looking at a charming family grouping. It was of Lord and Lady Randall, together with two people Sarah guessed to be Thomas and Caroline, Lord Randall's brother and sister-in-law. In front of them were the three children: William, Peter and Lucy. They had been much younger when the portrait was painted, but they were still easy to recognise.

Her eyes lingered on Lady Randall. Sarah recalled Mrs Smith telling her, in a rare moment of volubility, that Lord Randall had lost his wife to a fever five years before. Lord Randall never spoke of her, and Sarah found herself wondering whether he had been very much in love with his wife.

She was aroused from her reverie by the sound of the clock chiming and she realised it was

growing late. Leaving the gallery behind her, she returned to her own room.

* * * *

It was a long night. Lord Randall spent most of it in the stables with the sick mare, only leaving there towards dawn when the animal was showing signs of recovery. He slept late and afterwards, having seen that the mare was continuing to improve, rode out to the farthest reaches of his estate. Once there, in the peace and solitude of the beautiful landscape, he knew he would not be disturbed.

And he felt in need of peace and solitude, because for the first time in his life he was experiencing feelings he could not understand. And those feelings were centred around Miss Davenport, the children's governess.

His first response to her had been his normal one: he had been proud, arrogant and unconcerned. But even then she had stirred something in him, something he had not acknowledged until later, when he had had to admit to himself that she was a most unusual governess. His next response had been a purely physical one. Even so, if his feelings had ended there he could with difficulty have controlled them: after the look that had been surprised out of him by the lake he had kept a tight rein on himself and, knowing that he was so strongly attracted to her, he had made sure they did not meet too often.