The Earl's Runaway Governess Page 8

  Now it was Ash’s turn to be surprised. ‘What—all of them?’

  Cronin nodded. ‘Agnes explained that she cannot read well, but knows a little. She reports that her mistress has instructed that all letters are to be opened, and anything containing—er—numbers—is not to be given to Lady Kingswood. Instead, Agnes has been putting them in this room.’

  Ash shook his head in despair. Anything containing numbers. So that was Fanny’s way of dealing with overdue accounts.

  Cronin, averting his eyes, returned to his task. Absentmindedly, Ash read the rest of the letter. It explained that Miss Bolton was recently bereaved, and that her father had been a lawyer. It was signed Mrs Gray and gave the address of a registry in London. There was no mention of a reference.

  Ash did not have occasion to hire staff very often. He lived simply, and Tully, his coachman, Loveday, his valet, and Mr Hart, his secretary, had been with him for a number of years now. His landlord in London organised the female servants for the building, and Ash had never particularly been aware of them.

  Of course, now that he thought about it he understood that his world was full of serving maids and housemaids, and others that he didn’t see—kitchen maids and scullery maids and laundresses and seamstresses. Somehow he had never really noticed them before, nor thought about the work they did.

  He sat there, with the letter about Miss Bolton in his hand, and realised that he had no clue how to go about hiring female servants, nor what attributes he should consider. And he probably also needed more male employees. At least one footman. And possibly another groom.

  He reviewed Ledbury House’s current staff. Thomas the groom seemed reasonably skilled—the horses had been well cared for and the stables were neat and well looked after. Tully would sort him out, no doubt.

  And Mrs Cullen was a decent cook, thank goodness. If the grocer and the butcher and the other merchants had their bills paid he trusted that she would continue to cook good food and he would not be forced to think on the matter any further.

  Agnes... He frowned. Too garrulous, too pert, and entirely too visible. Perhaps she could be given a role that kept her below stairs? And how many housemaids were needed for a house of this size?

  Next, Miss Bolton. Now, there was a woman who would not be kept below stairs.

  He pictured her in his mind’s eye, recalling large brown eyes, which showed something akin to nervousness at times, a cloud of dark hair, pinned into a fierce hairstyle from which a tendril had escaped last night at dinner. His connoisseur’s eye had, of course, swept over her form on more than one occasion. A good figure—tall, proud and with curves exactly where he liked them.

  It was a pity, he mused, that she was a governess in his household. He was having to admit that he was drawn to her and he would have to exercise self-discipline to prevent his thoughts about her from becoming improper. Of course some improper thoughts could not be repressed, but he must not allow himself to continue to dwell on them.

  He considered what he knew about her. Recently bereaved. He frowned, feeling a little guilty about his curt treatment of her earlier. Deliberately, he shrugged it off. She’ll get over it. And she shouldn’t have been gawping in the hallway, anyway.

  Cronin cleared his throat, bringing Ash back to the present.

  ‘Might I suggest, my lord, that I continue this task alone? Now that we have established the basics, the next step is for me to calculate the sum total of the debts, and then you may consider what to do about it.’

  ‘Well, I shall have to pay them, of course!’

  There was no other option. As a man of honour, he would not stand by and see the family name criticised, or for John’s widow and child to be dunned by tradesmen. No—that was inconceivable!

  ‘Yes, my lord. And—’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I should like to tour the estate in order to have a better idea of how things stand.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, Cronin. I shall accompany you.’

  It was a good idea. How was he to be master of—of all this—when it had been fourteen years since he had even visited and he had never had a thought of being master here? It would likely be extremely tiresome, but he counted it a necessary evil.

  ‘Miss Bolton shall also accompany us. And Lady Kingswood, of course.’

  ‘Miss Bolton?’ Cronin’s surprised expression mirrored his own.

  Now why did I include the governess in my plans? I must be unhinged!

  ‘The new governess. She will wish to know her way about, no doubt, as Lady Kingswood will expect her to—to instruct Lady Cecily in matters relating to care of the tenants. One can never begin these things too soon! The governess only arrived this week. It’s all in here, you know.’ He handed Cronin the letter from Mrs Gray’s agency.

  ‘Ah, yes. The document with the numbers.’ Humour gleamed briefly in Cronin’s eyes.

  ‘Indeed. Please ensure that Miss Bolton is paid whatever wage she is due.’ For some reason that was important to him. ‘I shall leave you to your work.’ He rose. ‘And—Cronin...?’

  ‘Yes, my lord?’

  ‘Thank you.’ The man nodded.

  As Ash left the study and made his way to the parlour he was conscious of a sense of relief. Cronin, hired just yesterday by Hart, his secretary, came with good references, and he had previously worked as a steward on an estate of a similar size. The man clearly knew his work, and Ash hoped that he would help ease some of the burden associated with these new responsibilities. The sooner he could be sure things were financially stable here, the sooner he could leave and get back to his real life. Unlike John, he refused to bury himself in the country.

  Chapter Eight

  Opening the parlour door, Ash was surprised to find only Miss Bolton inside.

  ‘Ah! Miss Bolton! The very person I wished to speak to!’ He would be damned if he would let her know that she had caught him unawares. ‘Where are the others?’

  She eyed him warily. ‘Lady Kingswood has informed me that she normally has a lie-down in the afternoon and that Lady Cecily also sleeps then. It is a longstanding tradition, she tells me.’

  There was a short silence.

  Miss Bolton seemed to gather herself before asking, ‘What did you wish to speak to me about?’

  Ash had no idea how to respond to this. In fact, he was finding himself all at sea in her company. Fanny he knew of old. The child, Cecily, was of no matter. But how did one behave with a governess—particularly such an attractive one?

  Her large, fine eyes were gazing at him evenly, causing an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. Lord, never say he was developing a tendre for her! Knowing he should not, yet unable to resist, he said the only thing he could think of that would ensure he could have the pleasure of her company for the next half-hour.

  ‘You and I, Miss Bolton, have arrived here just recently, and the territory—the house, I mean—is unfamiliar. I wonder if you might accompany me on a tour of the—of it.’

  She looked a little perplexed but set aside her book. ‘Very well.’

  ‘Good. Right.’

  He held the door open for her, and the edge of her sleeve brushed against his arm as she passed.

  Ignoring the unexpected and unwanted reaction from his body, he added brusquely, ‘My new steward, Mr Cronin, will organise a tour of the estate at some point. It might be useful for you and Lady Kingswood to accompany us.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She was frowning. Why was she frowning? Had he erred in some way? Was his request inappropriate—might she think that it was because he wanted to spend time with her? That would never do—even if it was true.

  He caught himself up short. Why should he care what she was thinking, for goodness’ sake?

  ‘The former steward died and no one had appointed a new one.’

  She nodded but had nothing to say
to this. Silence thickened between them.

  ‘Let us begin at the top and work our way down,’ he suggested, leading the way to the hall and the main staircase.

  ‘Do you have the keys?’

  Unconsciously, she tilted her head to one side as she addressed him. It drew his attention to the line of her neck and shoulder.

  ‘Keys? What keys?’ What was she talking about?

  ‘The keys for any locked rooms—normally they would be kept by the housekeeper, but we have no housekeeper, so I assume that Mrs Cullen has them.’

  ‘Oh! I had not thought—Well, let us view what we can for now. I can always come back later with keys if needed.’

  She nodded in acceptance and they mounted the stairs together. He was intensely conscious of her, by his side. Strangely, his mind was suddenly filled with things that he might say to her if the situation were different.

  He was usually only in the company of attractive young women in one of two situations. If she had been a young lady of society he would right now be entertaining himself with a gentle flirtation, in the hope of being rewarded with a smile, a blush, or even—eventually—a kiss. Alternatively, if she had been a high-flyer or a game widow, he would have had seduction on his mind.

  But she was neither a flirtatious debutante nor a potential lover, and so the warm looks and ‘accidental’ touches that his mind was suggesting had to be ignored. Conversation, too, was proving difficult—for what did one discuss with a governess?

  ‘How has your first day at Ledbury House been?’ he finally blurted out, without much foresight.

  Her eyes flew wide open in alarm. ‘My lord, I apologise for allowing Lady Cecily to stand in the hall when the carriage arrived. I know it was a lapse on my part, and it will not happen again.’ Her voice shook a little.

  What would a governess’s employer normally say to something like this? Having already forgotten the incident, he brushed her words aside with a stern ‘I should hope not.’ Surely that was adequate?

  Lord, stop worrying! he told himself. He had no idea why he felt so disconcerted.

  They had reached the upper floor and now he opened a narrow door, which he guessed would lead to the attics. He was suddenly genuinely curious about this house he had inherited—even if it had brought him nothing but work and frustration so far.

  ‘Unlocked!’ he exclaimed, opening it wide.

  Behind the door was a steep, narrow staircase. With a gesture, he indicated that Miss Bolton should precede him.

  This proved to be an error of immense proportions. Following a few stairs behind, he was rewarded with eyefuls of Miss Bolton’s perfectly formed rump, the curves of which were imperfectly concealed beneath her fine black dress. Ash groaned inwardly.

  Reaching the top, he avoided her gaze as he steadied his breathing. There were four small bedrooms, none of which looked inhabited.

  ‘These were probably used by menservants,’ Miss Bolton mused softly. ‘They need a good clean but are basically sound.’

  Ash had to agree. There was no sign of damp, which was a relief. The last thing he needed to add to his growing pile of financial commitments was roof repairs. Though he should get Cronin to have it checked, regardless. Lord! Never in his life before had he been bothered with roof repairs!

  Miss Bolton led the way back down to the main upper floor. Thankfully, this time he was spared the temptation of her curvaceous behind. They checked numerous bedrooms, some of which were, according to Miss Bolton, in need of redecoration, and all of which needed to be cleaned.

  Ash was glad of her common-sense responses—she clearly knew much more about these things than he did. It was like the thought of roof repairs. To him, rooms were for using—he had never had to consider how they came to be furnished or redecorated.

  The only rooms they avoided were the master bedroom—formerly John’s, and now his—and those belonging to Lady Kingswood and her daughter.

  ‘This next one is my room,’ offered Miss Bolton tentatively.

  ‘May I see it? he asked politely. ‘Just to check what work might need to be done.’ He hoped she would agree, as he was struck by a sudden strong sense of curiosity about her.

  ‘Very well.’ She led him inside, leaving the door ajar, then stood in the doorway as he looked about him.

  Ash scanned the room, careful to behave in a similar way here to the way he had elsewhere. He deliberately eyed the ceiling and the walls, looking for cracks and flaws, then took a few steps deeper into the room and looked about. It was a small, stark, cold space—literally cold. The other uninhabited rooms were equally cool, but this was different. He could not feel easy about Miss Bolton having to sleep in such a chilly place. There was a small fireplace, he noted, but no kindling. He himself had been grateful for the fire in his own room, these past nights.

  ‘Have you no fire?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘I believe the chimney works, but Agnes has not had the time to lay a fire for me.’

  His jaw hardened. This was one responsibility he could do something about. ‘I shall instruct her to do so.’

  ‘Oh, no, please do not!’ Her brow creased.

  ‘Why on earth not?’ He was conscious of confusion, and with it mild irritation. Why did this woman persist in rejecting his attempts to help her? He had practically had to force her not to run away yesterday, and now this!

  ‘She is too busy. This should not be a priority for her, and I should hate to add to her burden of work!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ he exclaimed. ‘No doubt she is paid for her work, and as master I shall not allow her to avoid tasks that are rightly and reasonably hers!’

  ‘As master,’ she retorted, ‘you should know already that she is terribly overworked—as is Mrs Cullen. And I am not certain that they have been paid!’

  She clapped a hand to her mouth, as he had seen her do before.

  ‘Oh, Lord Kingswood, I do apologise! It is not my place to comment on such things.’

  Ash was aware of sudden anger. How dare she speak to me in such a way?

  ‘It is not!’ he snapped. ‘If I should need your opinion on managing my household I shall ask you for it!’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied demurely, and then seemed to consider the matter. ‘Of course it is not actually your fault that you do not know. Why, no one could expect it!’

  Somewhat mollified by her acknowledgement that he was not at fault—though still feeling a marked sense of injustice, along with unaccustomed uncertainty, he nevertheless could not help asking, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well,’ she offered slowly, ‘it seems to me that you have not had to manage a household of this size before. And you have inherited a situation where there are undoubted...challenges.’

  He snorted. ‘I admire your perspicacity. But it hardly takes a genius to come to that conclusion. I have, after all, been perfectly frank about my recent inheritance.’

  She flushed. ‘You think me rude. I am sorry.’

  He made an exasperated sound. ‘Not rude. Simply...frustrating.’

  She blinked. ‘Frustrating?’

  ‘Yes. Mostly because I have the sneaking suspicion that you have the right of it.’ Sighing, he set his pride to one side. ‘Tell me about Agnes and Mrs Cullen.’

  Her eyes narrowed, then she nodded to herself. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘Agnes is the only maid here. We had—I mean there should be at least seven indoor servants for a house of this size.’

  We had what? he wondered. What had she been about to say?

  ‘My valet and new steward have arrived today. Will that help?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she returned earnestly. ‘Two more mouths to feed, two more bedrooms to clean, and no doubt the valet will make demands of Aggie—water for washing, that sort of thing. If I were you I should—’ She broke off, flushing.

  ‘Pray do contin
ue,’ he drawled, leaning against the cool wall and crossing his arms. ‘You have begun my instruction. You cannot stop now. Why, as a governess, you should always complete the lesson!’

  ‘You are jesting with me!’ she returned snappily.

  Seeing her cross face made him abruptly forget his own frustrations. Despite himself, he laughed.

  She eyed him in bewilderment. Somehow this increased his humour. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more.

  Gradually her bafflement was slowly replaced by an appreciation of his humour. Eventually, seemingly despite herself, she joined in. It was the first time he had seen her so much as smile. Her face lit up as she laughed along with him—and yet he knew she had no idea what had triggered his fit of helpless hilarity.

  Their eyes met, and they enjoyed for an instant a sense of connection.

  After a time, and conscious of his station, he reined in his mirth. ‘Miss Bolton, I thank you. You have enlivened the day for me!’

  ‘But I still do not understand what I said that was so amusing!’ There was a crease in her brow.

  ‘You misunderstand me. It was nothing you said—more your obvious frustration with me as an inept pupil!’

  ‘I should not dream of expressing frustration towards you, Lord Kingswood,’ she said stiffly. ‘As my employer, you are naturally above criticism.’

  ‘Now, now, Miss Bolton—just when I thought we might be reaching an understanding. If I were truly above criticism it would mean that you would have avoided commenting on my carriage-driving ability?

  ‘I did not then know that you were my employer.’

  She was unbending, remote, but he knew that he was besting her.

  ‘That is true. Very well, I shall discount that particular episode.’ He paused. ‘I imagine that you would also have avoided commenting on my decisions as master, nor sought to advise me?’

  She nodded regally, though she looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Yes, my lord. That is correct.’

  ‘And yet not five minutes ago you were about to tell me what you should do if you were me! Ah, I see by your blush that I have scored a hit! Now, no matter. I am still agog to hear what you would do in my shoes.’