The Earl's Runaway Governess Read online

  ‘I am sure I cannot say, my lord.’

  ‘Now then, Miss Bolton, do not get into a miff with me! We were discussing the number of servants needed for an establishment such as this. And I had made the unpardonable error of suggesting that the arrival of Cronin and Loveday might alleviate the situation—’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she interjected. ‘Not unpardonable!’

  ‘Unpardonable!’ he repeated. ‘Now, are you going to reveal to me how I can get myself out of this hobble?’

  ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘though I am not sure you deserve my help now.’

  ‘Not deserve it? Why, how can you say such a thing when all I have done is try and understand how I might get a fire in your room!’

  She eyed him with some scepticism. ‘I suspect, my lord, that you are still laughing at me!’

  ‘I would not dare to do so!’

  She snorted.

  ‘Well, what an unladylike sound! I am reasonably confident that Lady Kingswood would not wish Lady Cecily to trumpet like a farmyard animal.’

  ‘Trumpet? I did not trumpet!’

  ‘Well, how would you describe the sound?’ He mimicked her snorting sound—exaggerated for full effect—and was rewarded by a glint of humour in her eye.

  His appreciation however, was short-lived. With a visible effort, she bit back the saucy retort that was clearly on her lips.

  A pity, he thought. This is the first bit of entertainment I’ve had since leaving the capital. Apart from the similar entertainment she offered me during the carriage ride yesterday. Hmm... Twice in two days he had come alive in her company.

  ‘A house of this size requires a housekeeper, at least three housemaids, two footmen, a kitchen maid and a scullery maid,’ she offered evenly. ‘You already have a cook, and Aggie is currently acting as a maid-of-all-work. The house is simply too big for her and her mother, which is why only the main rooms are clean—and even they are not cleaned frequently enough. To ask Aggie to do more would be unfair.’

  He considered this. ‘What role should Aggie play if I employ more household staff?’

  ‘I believe,’ she said tactfully, ‘that Aggie would be an ideal scullery maid. It means that she would work alongside her mother, rather than above stairs. But that decision would be up to the housekeeper.’

  Aggie not work above stairs? he thought. Good!

  ‘You are very wise in these matters,’ he noted. ‘Have you worked in many large households?’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she replied, visibly flustered. ‘Not at all! But I—my friends—ladies—sometimes speak of these things.’

  With this he had to be content. But his instincts were aroused. She was keeping something back from him. Interesting. There was more to Miss Anne Bolton than met the eye. And it would be amusing to find out exactly what it was she was not telling him.

  As they left her bedroom he could not resist one final look back. The window panes had been cleaned—by Miss Bolton herself, as he well knew. There were no personal knick-knacks on the table or the nightstand. Just a hairbrush and some pins.

  He glanced at her bed, neatly made. There she slept. Tonight she would undress in this very room and lie in this bed, wearing only her shift or a nightgown. The picture in his mind’s eye was entirely inappropriate for him to hold as her employer and yet he could not deny the compulsion.

  Miss Bolton intrigued him—in more ways than one.

  Chapter Nine

  Marianne walked down the main staircase at her employer’s side, glad that they had finally left her bedroom. Despite their shared laughter, the anxious voice in her mind was already sowing seeds of doubt again. Her heart was now racing as she considered how close she might have been to losing her job. Not only had she failed in her duties to Lady Cecily earlier, she had then had the temerity to criticise Lord Kingswood.

  To his face.

  Repeatedly.

  She groaned inwardly, just thinking about it. How foolish she had been! Her difficulty lay in the fact that—despite Lady Kingswood’s assertions—she had been raised as a lady, not a governess. Oh, she knew how to behave in polite company, how to address people from different walks of life, how to speak Latin and write with a neat hand. All these were qualities one would want in a governess. But they were also attributes expected of a lady.

  The difference—one of the key differences, she now realised—was that a governess was not expected to speak her mind. Under any circumstances. Lord Kingswood—who presumably had had limited contact with governesses—might not have realised it. Yet. But Lady Kingswood would.

  I must be on my guard, she thought. I might reveal too much without even realising I am doing so.

  This was an unexpected challenge. She had anticipated that lying about her background would be her greatest concern. She had not realised that she might betray herself just by expressing her true thoughts about something.

  Thankfully, something about the situation had amused him. She felt a strange warmth in her belly as she recalled his unguarded laughter. His handsome face, creased with amusement, was undoubtedly attractive. She pictured him, seeing in her mind’s eye how he had thrown his head back and given into his mirth. She had been compelled to laugh with him, so genuine and infectious had been his enjoyment. It had led to a brief moment of unexpected harmony between them.

  She frowned. It would not do to be too much at ease with him. She must remain guarded.

  Afterwards, his tone had turned teasing, but she had rebuffed him with what she hoped was a suitably professional demeanour. And he had seemed genuinely to listen to her advice. Whether he would take it, she did not know.

  They had both already visited all the rooms on the main ground floor so, after a cursory glance at the serving room that adjoined the dining room, they made for the dimly lit back stairs. As they walked they discussed in a companionable way the obvious differences in the rooms that Aggie cleaned—the dining room and parlour—and the others, that had been abandoned to dust, dead spiders and unpolished silver.

  ‘The chimneys all need to be cleaned,’ he noted, ‘and some of the servant bells are broken.’

  ‘Your steward will find tradesmen who can do that,’ said Marianne unthinkingly, then bit her lip.

  Every time she spoke she risked revealing that she had grown up in just such a house, and that she had been trained by her own mother and Mrs Bailey in the management of a large household.

  ‘I should think that would be logical, in any case,’ she added, in an attempt to make it seem that she didn’t know exactly what she was talking about.

  ‘Hmm...’ he agreed absentmindedly as they began to descend the servants’ stairs. ‘Where do we get the staff from? In London, my secretary would approach a register office—such as the one you used—but will it be the same for household staff here, in rural Berkshire?’

  This was something a governess would know about. ‘I should think,’ she offered, ‘that a register office could help. There may also be local families with young people wishing to go into service.’

  Her own mama had deliberately recruited junior staff from among their tenants and the local village in order to give them a start.

  He flashed her a grateful look. ‘A good suggestion.’

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was a fine feeling to know he appreciated what she said. The impact of that dark blue gaze made her toes curl deliciously and her pulse skip.

  Stop! she told herself. Do not be distracted by his kindness!

  For that was all it was. He was the first person to show her any true warmth or kindness since she had felt Mrs Bailey’s farewell embrace. Further back there had been endless unappreciated warmth, kindness and love from Mama and Papa. Unappreciated only because she had had no expectation of it being taken away. That carriage accident had deprived her, in an instant, of the two people she had loved most in all the world.

/>   For an instant she recalled her mother’s warm hugs and a wave of grief and loss and loneliness washed over her. She stumbled on the stair and would have fallen, but Lord Kingswood caught her elbow and steadied her.

  ‘Did you trip on something?’ he asked solicitously. ‘Is this something else I must add to my list of repairs?’

  ‘Um...no—just my own clumsiness,’ she replied.

  Dash it! She’d heard a slight tremble in her voice.

  She looked at him. Monumental error. He was on the stair below and had turned towards her. His face was only inches from hers, and she found herself frozen and helpless by his proximity. He was dangerously attractive—and, Lord, her senses knew it!

  Her breath caught in her throat and her arm tingled where she felt the warmth of his strong hand through her thin sleeve. She knew that she should move away, knew also that he was not in any way preventing her. Yet she was incapable of movement or speech. The only reality was his compelling gaze.

  Abruptly he turned away, seeming to shake himself. ‘I am relieved to hear it,’ he said tersely, continuing his passage down the last few stairs. ‘I shall stay in front of you, in case you should stumble again.’

  Stumbling again, thought Marianne, is just about the worst thing I could do right now.

  Deliberately, she diverted her thoughts away from what had just happened. Away from him. Away from her lost parents.

  She reached the bottom, took a breath, and looked around her. The narrow passageway was similar to the one at home. No fancy paintwork or expensive floors here—just whitewashed walls and flagged stone floors.

  Lord Kingswood had already begun walking, and she half skipped to catch up with him. Systematically he opened the various doors on either side as they went. Empty storage rooms, mostly. One had a pile of root vegetables inside, another had a side of beef and a couple of chickens.

  ‘At least we have been paying the butcher,’ Lord Kingswood murmured to himself.

  Marianne was a little shocked. Were things so bad with the debts here? Could they even afford to keep her?

  I would stay here, she thought fiercely, without wages. Just to have a place to sleep, and guaranteed food.

  Her own vehemence surprised her. Yet she reasoned it was entirely logical. She had no immediate requirement for money. More pressing was her need for stability. Her cold little room here in Ledbury House felt infinitely more secure than the notion of traipsing back to London, back to the register office, to seek another position.

  They continued along the passageway.

  Suddenly, up ahead, a door opened to their left and a dark figure emerged. He seemed to be carrying something—a box, which clinked and rattled as he walked. Lord Kingswood froze, laying a hand on her arm in an unspoken command for her to do likewise.

  The man continued up the corridor, leaving the door ajar, and Lord Kingswood silently followed.

  Marianne was intrigued. What was going on? She paced quietly after her employer, conscious that he was trying to move stealthily. Not that the shadowy figure ahead seemed aware of their presence. Nor did he seem to move furtively. In fact, he was whistling!

  They were now level with the room from which the man had emerged, and they both looked inside. It was the wine cellar! Not much wine inside, though—most of the shelves were empty.

  ‘As I thought,’ said Lord Kingswood grimly.

  He increased his pace to keep up with the man. Ahead, the passageway ended with an open doorway, revealing a large kitchen beyond. Lord Kingswood and Marianne followed swiftly through the kitchen, outside and into the kitchen yard. A cart was waiting, its single horse harnessed and ready to go. The man stowed the box in the back of the cart, then continued, jumping up onto the driver’s bench.

  Lord Kingswood made his move. Striding out, he called loudly, ‘Thomas!’

  Thomas wheeled around, shock apparent in his expression. ‘Oh, Lord Kingswood—my lord! You surprised me! I did not expect you to be there!’

  ‘I am quite sure you did not,’ murmured the Earl menacingly. He strode forward. ‘Can I ask you where you are going with—’ he looked into the box that Thomas had been carrying ‘—nine bottles of fine French wine?’

  Thomas looked confused. ‘To the village, my lord.’

  A female voice intervened. ‘Leave those there for now, Thomas. I shall speak to the new master.’

  It was Mrs Cullen, emerging from what looked like a henhouse, Agnes by her side. They were each carrying a small basket of eggs.

  Mrs Cullen placed hers in the back of the cart, next to the box of wine. ‘Go you and see to the other horses.’

  Thomas shrugged, jumped down from the cart, and set off towards the stables.

  Lord Kingswood had switched his attention to Mrs Cullen. He looked thunderous, and Marianne was glad his anger was not directed at her.

  ‘Thomas is acting under your instructions, I gather?’

  Mrs Cullen flushed. ‘Well, yes, I suppose... Though it could be said that he is acting under the instructions of the mistress.’

  ‘Explain!’ His exclamation was terse, his tone that of a man about to lose his temper. ‘Tell me why my own servants look to be stealing my property!’

  Marianne was quaking for poor Mrs Cullen. She had been present on many occasions when Henry had boxed the ears of some unfortunate servant when he had displeased him. Though Lord Kingswood, as she was realising, was a different sort of man to Henry, still she feared that he would upset the poor cook.

  ‘It is not stealing, my lord, and I shan’t take such an accusation from you or anybody else!’ Mrs Cullen was pale, but with two spots of colour, one on each cheek. ‘We are doing what we must to put food on the table—on your table, my lord!’

  Beside her, Agnes burst into noisy tears. ‘Stealing? Stealing, Ma? He says we’re stealing!’

  ‘I heard him, Aggie—and, like I say, no one shall call me or mine a thief! We are honest, God-fearing folk as have tried to do our best for Ledbury House and for the family, and if he thinks he can come in here and call me a thief, well—’

  Anxious to prevent the words of resignation that were surely coming, Marianne—with all her years of training coming to the fore—knew she had no choice but to intervene. ‘Now, then, Mrs Cullen, I am sure this is naught but a misunderstanding. Like Lord Kingswood, I am new here, and we do not yet understand how things are done in these parts.’

  Mrs Cullen looked a little mollified. ‘That’s as may be, miss, but you heard him call me a thief. And what’s more he called Thomas a thief! And he called my Aggie a thief!’

  Aggie’s sobs grew louder.

  ‘Quit that infernal racket!’ bellowed Lord Kingswood. ‘If there is some justification, then let me have it, but for the life of me I cannot see how you can explain nine bottles of Lord Kingswood’s—of my best red wine being removed from this house and stowed in a cart!’

  Marianne threw him a darkling look. This was not helping! He raised his eyebrows at her, but halted his tirade for the moment.

  ‘Mrs Cullen,’ she said in a soothing tone. ‘This must be very distressing for Aggie. Could she perhaps go and make us all some tea? I suspect we shall need some. And is there somewhere indoors where we can go to discuss this properly?’

  Mrs Cullen nodded. ‘Yes—go you and make some tea, Aggie. Put those eggs in the pantry—I shall need them for tonight’s dinner.’ She turned to Lord Kingswood, adding stiffly, ‘Please follow me, my lord. We can discuss this in the housekeeper’s sitting room.’

  He nodded, lips pursed. His bearing was that of a man sorely tested.

  ‘Not that we have a housekeeper, of course,’ the cook added darkly, turning to walk back towards the house. ‘If we had, we would not be in such a hobble!’

  On this pronouncement, she went in through the kitchen door.

  Lord Kingswood turned towards Ma
rianne. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, what?’ She was all confusion.

  ‘You might as well come too, since you are master of all of us, it seems!’

  She flushed. ‘I apologise, my lord. I should not have interfered—’

  ‘No, you should not!’ he agreed tersely. ‘But you did. Again. Now, let us go and hear whatever it is that Mrs Cullen has to say!’

  He stomped off, leaving her to follow in his wake.

  * * *

  ‘And so we sell the eggs, and whatever extra vegetables we have, and sometimes we pay them with wine. And what’s more Lady Kingswood knows about it!’

  Mrs Cullen sat back, having completed her tale.

  Marianne was not sure she should even be here. The revelations had been uncomfortable to hear—particularly the fact that the local tradesmen had not been paid in almost a year because there was no money. The other staff—including the previous governess—had left, having not received their wages, just as Marianne had suspected. And Mrs Cullen had kept food on the table by bartering and selling Ledbury House’s only assets—the meagre supply of eggs, turnips and cabbages they harvested and the contents of Lord Kingswood’s wine cellar.

  She stole a glance at the new Lord Kingswood. He looked stunned. The door opened, admitting Aggie, with a pot of tea and a mismatched collection of cups. As she laid them out on the table Lord Kingswood stood wordlessly, walked to the door, and left without so much as a backward glance.

  Marianne was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. She had not realistically expected him to apologise to his staff—very few gentlemen would do so, even when exposed as blatantly as Lord Kingswood had been. But she had hoped he might say something conciliatory to Mrs Cullen and Agnes, who still seemed rather distressed.

  She set out to charm and calm them, listening with genuine sympathy to their distressing tale. Staff had left gradually, it seemed, with harsh words being spoken in some cases. Once the housekeeper had gone the burden of supplying food had fallen upon the cook, and she had hit upon the plan to trade what they could.