Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

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СКАЧАТЬ slipped away. On returning to her room she sat down and began to write the promised letter to Ellen.

      In the days that followed she heeded her instructions. The early autumn weather was pleasant, so it was no hardship to take her young charge out of doors. Besides which it gave Claire a chance to talk to her and find out more about her. Although she was shy and her education had been somewhat disrupted due to circumstances, Lucy was not unintelligent and had an enquiring mind. She was quick to learn the names of the flowers and trees and living creatures they encountered on these walks. When told a story she was an avid listener. Little by little Claire added to their activities, always taking care to vary them and to try to make them interesting.

      She had not expected to see much of her employer at all, but he occasionally came to the nursery. One day, when teaching Lucy her letters, she looked up to see the tall figure in the doorway. Realising who it was, she felt her heartbeat quicken. Following her gaze, Lucy saw him too and paused in her task, regarding him uncertainly.

      He smiled down at her. ‘How are you today, Lucy?’

      She reddened and lowered her eyes. ‘Very well, thank you, Uncle Marcus.’

      ‘What have you been doing?’

      Lucy moved her hand so that he could see the copybook in which she had been working. He surveyed it closely and the letters written in large childish script.

      ‘Well done,’ he said then. ‘You’re making good progress, I see.’

      Lucy’s blush deepened. Over her head he exchanged glances with Claire.

      ‘Well done, Miss Davenport.’

      She had half expected to hear irony in the tone, but there was none and her own face grew a little warmer.

      ‘She is quick to learn,’ she replied.

      ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I should not like my niece to be an ignoramus.’

      ‘I can assure you, sir, she is far from being anything of the sort.’

      ‘Good.’ Marcus looked down at his niece. ‘Now, Lucy, copy out all those letters again. I wish to speak to Miss Davenport.’

      Obediently the child returned to her task. Seeing her once again employed, he drew Claire aside.

      ‘The books and materials you asked for have been ordered,’ he said. ‘They should be here within the week. Is there anything else you require?’

      ‘Not at present, thank you.’

      ‘If you think of anything later, be sure to let me know.’ He paused. ‘Has the child’s appetite returned? Is she sleeping properly?’

      ‘Yes, sir, on both counts.’

      ‘Does she seem to be settling down?’

      ‘I think she is beginning to, yes, but it is likely to take a while before she really feels at home.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose it will.’ For a moment he surveyed her in silence. ‘Well, then, I won’t detain you further.’ Throwing another glance towards his niece, he took his leave of them.

      She watched the departing figure a moment and then went back to see what Lucy was doing. The child looked up, regarding her quizzically.

      ‘What’s a nigneraymus, Miss Davenport?’

      Claire bit back a smile. ‘A very stupid person. Not like you at all.’

      ‘Oh.’ Lucy digested the information thoughtfully. ‘If I learn all my letters, will Uncle Marcus like me better?’

      ‘He likes you now.’

      ‘Does he?’

      ‘Of course. Did he not bring you here to live with him?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Well, then.’

      ‘It’s just that I don’t see him very much.’

      ‘Your uncle is very busy,’ Claire replied. ‘Nether-clough is a big estate and it takes up a lot of his time.’

      Lucy nodded slowly. ‘Papa was always busy, too.’

      ‘Gentlemen often are, but it doesn’t mean they don’t care for you.’ She put a reassuring hand on the child’s shoulder and smiled, hoping that what she said was true.

      As she and Lucy went for their afternoon walk Claire pondered the matter. She knew that after months without a master, Netherclough really did need Marcus’s close attention. Very often she would see him ride out with Mr Fisk, the land agent, or else he would be closeted in the study with piles of paperwork. So far as the physical welfare of his niece was concerned he had shown a great deal of consideration and compliance. She lacked for nothing. The same was true of her education: the list of books and schoolroom materials Claire had submitted had not been questioned. It seemed he trusted her judgement and was prepared to back it financially. Of course, as he had intimated, money was no object. If Mrs Hughes was to be believed, the Edenbridge family was among the wealthiest in the country. However, when it came to the child’s emotional needs the case was rather different. Marcus spent very little time with her, most of it comprising short visits to the nursery, as today. Although his manner showed interest, he seemed to hold himself aloof somehow as though, having seen to all the material aspects of his guardianship, he was absolved from deeper involvement. She hoped that, as time went on and matters fell into a routine, he might be able to spend more time with Lucy.

      She had been so absorbed in thought that she hadn’t paid much attention to the direction of their steps that afternoon, but realised now that once again Lucy had brought them to the paddock where several horses were grazing. It was clear at a glance that they were hunters, huge, powerful beasts all sixteen hands or more at the shoulder. Unperturbed by its size, Lucy was feeding one of them through the fence with handfuls of grass. It was clear that the child knew to hold her hand out flat and that she had no fear of the great teeth or the long tongue that whisked the grass away. As the horse munched she stroked its nose gently.

      ‘You like the horses, don’t you?’ said Claire then.

      Lucy nodded.

      ‘Shall we find the head groom and ask if we can have a look around the stables?’

      Lucy turned round, her expression animated. ‘Oh, yes, please, Miss Davenport.’

      And so they spent a delightful hour walking along the row of stalls and loose boxes and admiring the beautiful animals they encountered there. It was immediately clear to Claire that the Viscount and his late brother had a good eye for horseflesh. The head groom was Mr Trubshaw, a stocky, grey-haired individual with a weathered face and a thick Yorkshire accent, and he possessed a fund of knowledge about his charges. He told Lucy the name of each horse and a little of its history. She listened avidly, committing all the details to memory, and asked questions in her turn. Seeing her interest was genuine, he warmed to her very quickly and soon the two were chatting like old friends. Claire watched thoughtfully. Trubshaw had accomplished more in an hour with the child than Marcus had managed in weeks. Lucy was in seventh heaven here and that knowledge gave her an idea.

      Later СКАЧАТЬ