The Earl's Runaway Governess Read online

  She looked at the page again. The wage she was to be given was shockingly little. It was much less than her allowance—the pin money that she had so carelessly spent each quarter on trinkets, stockings and sweetmeats. She had no idea how to make economies. Now she was expected to make this meagre amount cover all her needs, including her clothes.

  She lifted her chin. I can do this! she told herself. I must!

  * * *

  ‘And now to the family bequests.’

  Mr Richardson, Ash thought, would have made an excellent torturer. Not content with bringing him into this godforsaken house and forcing him to endure Fanny’s company, he was now reading—very slowly—the entire Last Will and Testament of John Ashington, Fourth Earl Kingswood. Ash had sat impassive as the lawyer had detailed the property that was now his—the main element being this house, with its unswept chimneys. Thankfully, the lawyer was now on to the family section.

  Ash took another mouthful of brandy. He would be out of here soon.

  Fanny sat up straighter, a decided gleam in her eye. Only the house and gardens were entailed, therefore the rest of the estate would likely be placed in trust for Cecily, perhaps with a sizeable portion for Fanny herself.

  He wondered, not for the first time, if Fanny had chosen John because of his title. Had he been the Earl when he and John had both fallen in love with the same girl, would she have chosen him?

  Ash forced himself away from cynical thoughts and tried to pay attention to the lawyer.

  Mr Richardson read on—and what he said next made Fanny exclaim in surprise. Cecily was to receive only a respectable dowry and John’s mother’s jewellery. So Fanny was to inherit everything?

  Ash stole a glance at her. She was quivering in anticipation. Ash averted his eyes.

  ‘To my dear wife,’ Mr Richardson droned, ‘I leave the Dower House for as long as she shall live there unmarried...’ He went on to specify a financial settlement that was again respectable, though not spectacular.

  ‘What? What?’ Fanny was not impressed. ‘If he has not left everything to Cecily, or to me, then to whom...?’

  She turned accusatory eyes on Ash. ‘You!’

  The same realisation was dawning on Ash.

  ‘The remainder of my estate I leave to my cousin, the Fifth Earl Kingswood, Mr William Albert James Ashington...’

  Without missing a beat the lawyer detailed the unentailed lands and property that Ash was to inherit. But there was more.

  ‘I commend my daughter, Lady Cecily Frances Kingswood, to the guardianship of the Fifth Earl—’

  ‘What? No!’ Fanny almost shrieked. ‘Mr Richardson, this cannot be true!’

  Ash’s blood ran cold as he saw the trap ahead of him. Guardian to a twelve-year-old child? Cutting out the child’s mother? What on earth had John been thinking?

  The lawyer paused, coughed, and looked directly at Fanny over his spectacles. Chastised, she subsided, but with a mutinous look. Mr Richardson then returned to the document and read to the end.

  John explained in the will that Ash was to link closely with Fanny, so that together they might provide ‘loving firmness’ for Lady Cecily. Loving firmness? What did that even mean?

  Ash’s mind was reeling. Why on earth had John done this? Did he not trust Fanny to raise the child properly by herself?

  The last thing Ash wanted was to be saddled with responsibility for a child! Fanny could easily have been named as guardian, with Ash and the lawyer as trustees. Indeed, it was normally expected that a child’s mother would automatically be guardian.

  The feeling of impatience and mild curiosity that had occupied him when Mr Richardson had begun his recitation had given way to shock and anger, barely contained.

  Fanny, of course, then added to Ash’s delight by indulging in a bout of tears. Cecily just looked bewildered. Ash met Mr Richardson’s gaze briefly, sharing a moment of male solidarity, then he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his forehead. Would this nightmare never end?

  * * *

  Marianne emerged from Mrs Gray’s registry hugely relieved. She glanced at the other two young ladies in the outer office. They were now seated together and had clearly been quietly chatting to each other. They looked at her now with similar expressions—curious, polite, questioning. She was unable to resist sending them what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

  She patted her reticule as she stepped into the street, conscious of the paper within. This was her future. Governess to an unknown young lady, recently bereaved and living quietly with her mother. It sounded—actually, it sounded perfect.

  For the first time since her decision to run away she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, after all, things would work out. She had a situation and she would have a roof over her head. She would be living quietly in the country, far away from London. As long as Henry did not find her all would be well.

  Of course she had no idea whether he was even looking for her. He might be content simply to let her vanish. On the other hand, that last look he had thrown her—one filled with evil intent—haunted her. Henry was entirely capable of ruthlessly, obsessively searching for her simply because she had thwarted his will by escaping.

  She shrugged off the fear. There was nothing she could do about it beyond being careful. Besides, so far everything was working out well.

  With renewed confidence, she set off for the modest inn where she had stayed last night. On Thursday her new life would properly begin.

  * * *

  ‘You are telling me that there is no way to avoid this?’

  ‘Lord Kingswood, I simply executed the will. I did not write it.’ Mr Richardson was unperturbed.

  Fanny had gone, helped from the room by her daughter. Fanny had been gently weeping, the image of the Wronged Widow. Ash’s hidden sigh of relief when the door had closed behind her had been echoed, he believed, by Mr Richardson. Fanny had not, it seemed, lost the ability to make a scene.

  ‘You have not answered my question.’

  There! The subtlest of gestures, but the lawyer had squirmed a little in his seat.

  ‘Tell me how I can extricate myself from this and allow Lady Kingswood to raise her own child.’

  ‘With your permission, Lady Kingswood can of course raise her daughter.’

  ‘But her having to seek my permission is not right. She is the child’s mother. Why should I be the guardian?’

  The lawyer shrugged. ‘Her father must have had his reasons. He did not clarify, and it was not my place to ask such questions.’

  Ash decided to try another tack. ‘What of Lady Kingswood’s portion? How can I give my cousin’s widow more than her husband did?’

  ‘That part of the estate, as you know, is not entailed, which is how the Fourth Earl was at liberty to leave it to you. It is true that you do have the option of selling it or gifting it to someone. However—’ he raised a hand to interrupt Ash’s response ‘—after the death duties have been paid the estate will barely manage to break even. Lord Kingswood had been ill for more than a year, as you may be aware.’

  ‘No. I was not aware.’ Guilt stabbed through him. Damn it! Why had he not known about John’s illness?

  ‘During that time Lord Kingswood’s investments suffered from a lack of attention, as did the estate. His steward was very elderly—he predeceased Lord Kingswood by only a few weeks—and the burden of management fell on the shoulders of Lady Kingswood. As...er...she had no previous knowledge or background in such matters...’ His voice tailed away.

  ‘But nor do I!’ Ash ran his hand through his thick dark hair in frustration. ‘If the estate has suffered under Lady Kingswood’s stewardship, then how can I, equally inexperienced, be expected to do better?’

  Mr Richardson eyed him calmly.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I am afraid I have no answer to that question. What I do know is tha
t if things are left to Lady Kingswood to manage...’ Again his voice tailed off.

  Ash reflected on Lady Kingswood. The young Fanny he remembered had been a beauty, a lively dancer and a witty conversationalist. He had no idea about the woman she had become.

  ‘Are you suggesting that Lady Kingswood is incapable of managing?’

  ‘I could not possibly comment.’

  ‘Damn it!’ Ash slammed his hand down on John’s desk. He was trapped. A title, financial responsibilities, and now this. A twelve-year-old child to raise and a large estate to manage.

  ‘Quite.’ The lawyer indicated three large chests in the corner. ‘Lady Kingswood informs me that documents relating to the estate and all of Lord Kingswood’s business affairs are contained in these chests.’

  Ash opened the nearest box. It was full to bursting with papers, haphazardly stuffed into the chest. It would take at least a week to sort this box alone.

  ‘Right. I see. Right.’

  His mind was working furiously. This was going to take weeks to sort out. Weeks even to discover the extent of the commitment he had been left with. And his life was already full—friends to meet, parties to attend, an appointment to look at a new horse...

  He came to a decision. ‘I shall go to London now, as planned, and then return on Thursday, once I have dealt with my most pressing appointments.’

  Inside, rage threatened to overpower him. Why have I been given this burden? Damn it, John! Why did you have to die?

  Chapter Three

  The inn at Netherton was similar in some ways to the Hawk and Hound. There was a stone archway off to one side, and Marianne had barely a moment to register the swinging metal sign before the coach swung into the yard.

  See? Marianne told herself. It is just an inn. The people here are no different from the people at home. I can do this.

  It was a refrain she had repeated numerous times in the few days since she had slipped away from the only home she could remember. Today she had survived the indignity of travelling on the public mail coach for only the second time in her life, sandwiched between a buxom farmer’s wife and a youth travelling to visit his relations in Reading. The farmer’s wife had talked incessantly, which had been both vexing and a relief, since no one could ask her any questions.

  Grateful that the jolting coach was finally arrived at Netherton, Marianne descended, and pointed out her bandboxes to the coachman. He untied them from the top of the coach and passed them down to her, then he jumped down again, making for the warmth of the inn and its refreshments.

  Marianne looked around the yard. The only other vehicle was a dashing high-perch phaeton, painted in an elegant shade of green, with green and black wheels. She had seen carriages like it before. They were all the crack among the London sporting gentlemen. Henry, of course, owned one—though his was a little smaller and painted red.

  So where was the cart or the gig that would convey her to Ledbury House? Mrs Gray had said only that she would inform the family of her arrival. She had no idea who would be meeting her.

  The other passengers had also dismounted and were going inside. Those who were travelling on would have a few moments here to relieve themselves, or quickly buy refreshments from the landlord.

  Hesitantly, Marianne followed them into the inn.

  The interior was dark, cosy and well-maintained. A fire burned in the grate, for the January day was chilly.

  Marianne made her way towards the wooden counter at the far end of the room, where a woman who must be the landlady was busy pouring ale. As she walked Marianne found herself warily assessing the strangers in the room. Since the day and the hour she had left home she had not felt truly safe for even a minute. She had no experience with which to assess where danger might lurk, so found herself constantly on edge.

  Her fellow passengers were already seating themselves in various parts of the taproom, and there were also two men who looked as if they might be farmers, each with a mug of beer in front of him.

  Then she saw him. Her heart briefly thumped furiously in her chest and the hairs at the back of her neck stood to attention.

  He was seated with his back to her, at the table closest to the counter. She could see his dark hair, swept forward in fashionable style. He wore a driving cloak with numerous capes. She could also see long legs encased in tight-fitting pantaloons and gleaming black boots. He looked like any one of a dozen London bucks.

  Except this time, she reminded herself, you have no reason to fear him.

  She kept walking, soothing herself with calm thoughts. As she reached his table she turned her head, compelled to confirm that it was no one she knew.

  This man was a few years older than Henry—perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties. His hair was similar—thick, dark and luxuriant. But the face was totally different. This man was handsome—or at least he would be if he were not scowling so fiercely. His strong bones and lean features contrasted with Henry’s slight pudginess and rather weak jawline. And now that she could see all of him she realised that his body shape was totally different from Henry’s. He was lean and muscular, with no sign of a paunch. His clothing was similar to that favoured by Henry—and indeed by all the young bucks of London. But there the resemblance ended.

  Sensing her standing there, he looked up from his mug and their eyes met. Stormy blue bored into her and Marianne felt a slow flush rise. My, but he was attractive! And she realised his gaze was doing strange things to her.

  Breaking away from that endless, compelling contact, she bit her lip and took the final four steps to the counter.

  ‘Yes, miss?’

  Marianne summoned a polite smile. She felt slightly lost and shaky, and she could feel the man’s gaze boring into her back.

  Still, she managed to reply to the landlady. ‘I am expecting someone to meet me here. I have travelled from London on the mail coach.’

  ‘Who is it you are expecting, miss?’

  Marianne’s brow creased. ‘I am not exactly sure.’

  Inside, panic was rising. What if there has been some mistake? What if there is no governess position?

  ‘I am to take up a position as governess at a place called Ledbury House. I was told to travel here by mail coach today.’

  ‘Ledbury House? This gentleman—’ the landlady indicated the fashionable buck ‘—is also travelling there. Perhaps you are expected to travel with him?’

  Heart sinking, Marianne swung round to face him. His scowl had deepened as he’d listened to their exchange, and he now raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  ‘Curious...’ he mused. ‘And to think I was unaware of the delights this day would hold.’

  Marianne was taken aback. She was unsure how to take this. The man’s words had been perfectly polite, but something about the tone suggested the possibility that he was not, in fact, delighted. Accustomed as she was to straightforward politeness, his words and tone felt disconcerting.

  Something of what she was feeling must have shown on her face because, as she watched him, his expression changed to one of chagrin.

  ‘I have no doubt,’ he murmured cryptically, ‘that this is a mess of Fanny’s making and I am expected to fix it. Well, I shall do so this one time, but no more.’ With this enigmatic statement he drained his mug, then stood. ‘You’d best come with me.’

  Not waiting for her reply, he swung away towards the door.

  Marianne stood rooted to the spot, uncertainty bedevilling her. Should she go with him? A stranger? And she was to travel with him unaccompanied? Miss Marianne Grant, a lady, would never have done so. Miss Anne Bolton, a governess, could.

  Conscious that all eyes were all on her, Marianne was surprised to find determination rising within her. Surprised because she did not often need to be brave. She was normally a placid, timid creature, most at home with a book in her hand and harmony and peace all arou
nd her.

  This unknown gentleman was expecting her simply to climb into a carriage beside him—without any chaperon, maid or footman accompanying them. Perhaps he had a groom? Well, even if he didn’t, it was clear that everyone expected the governess to go with him and be grateful for the ride.

  Although he was handsome, and strangely compelling, she was almost relieved to be wary of him—being guarded would be much, much safer than being attracted to him.

  Torn between the surprising temptation to sit down somewhere safe and wait for an unknown rescuer and the even stronger temptation to run, to get as far away as she could from the danger inherent in being alone in a carriage with a man, Marianne recognised that her best option was simply to get into the carriage and hope she would be safe with him.

  She had very few options. She must get to Ledbury House, where she would have food and a place to sleep, and where she could perhaps eventually feel secure.

  You are no longer Miss Marianne Grant, she reminded herself, but a poor governess, and you need this situation. Hopefully she would be safe and unmolested by this man for the last part of her journey.

  Swallowing hard—she could almost feel the fear in the back of her throat—she gave the landlady a polite nod and followed him out to the yard.

  There he was, barking orders at the ostlers, instructing them to harness his horses to the carriage as soon as they could find the time. Two men and a stable boy had immediately jumped to their task, apparently caught out by the gentleman’s earlier than anticipated departure from the taproom.

  Marianne walked slowly towards him. He glanced sideways at her, then turned his impatient gaze back to the ostlers. They stood like that, with Marianne feeling increasingly awkward and unsure, until the four beautifully matched greys were ready. The gentleman then held out his hand.

  Confused, Marianne just looked at it.

  ‘Your bandboxes?’ he said mildly.