The Earl's Runaway Governess. Catherine Tinley

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СКАЧАТЬ Marianne thanked heaven for small mercies. The house was cold, and rundown, and its occupants were at each other’s throats, but at least there was decent food.

      Strange that she had taken her life so much for granted. Until a few days ago she had never had cause to question where her next meal was coming from. Although she had not actually run out of money, she had worried about doing so during the past few days. Now she appreciated the food before her as she never had before. She savoured every bite and was grateful.

      ‘This is delicious,’ she said aloud. ‘I must compliment Mrs Cullen on the meal.’

      ‘I agree.’ Lord Kingswood had unexpectedly decided to join in the conversation. ‘I admit I had assumed that with everything else in this house going to rack and ruin the food would be appalling. I admit to being pleasantly surprised.’

      Lady Kingswood threw him an angry look. ‘How dare you insult my home?’

      ‘I was complimenting your cook.’ He eyed her evenly.

      Marianne felt the tension rise. Oh, dear! It was all going to start again.

      ‘Rack and ruin, you said.’ She glared at him.

      ‘True. I have not been in Ledbury House for many years, and I am saddened to see how run-down it has become.’ His tone was unapologetic.

      Oh, why did I compliment the cooking? Marianne thought.

      ‘Yes, you have not been here for fourteen years. And I wish you had not come now.’

      Lady Kingswood’s voice quivered, and she had stopped eating. Cecily was looking anxiously from her mother to Lord Kingswood and back again.

      Do something! Marianne was thinking to herself.

      ‘I have often thought,’ she said, her tone deliberately relaxed, ‘that pretty, comfortable houses remain beautiful through the ages, no matter the ups and downs of the families living within them.’

       Is that enough?

      Lady Kingswood looked at her. ‘This is a pretty house, isn’t it?’

      ‘Very pretty.’

      Her hostess reached for a dish and spooned some potatoes and leeks onto her plate. At the other end of the table the Earl was glowering, and he seemed to be getting ready to say something. Something unhelpful, Marianne was sure.

      She tapped her fingers on the table, considering. Then decisively she raised her hand to her face, hoping to catch his attention. It worked. He glanced at her and she gave him a level stare. She did not look away, but simply maintained the gaze.

      His eyebrows flew upwards, then he flushed slightly and broke the contact. But he did not say whatever it was he had been preparing.

      Marianne returned to her own meal, feeling that she had at least prevented all-out war at dinner.

      * * *

      What a managing, impudent young woman! Ash was thinking. How dare she presume to check my behaviour!

      He had no doubt that was what Miss Bolton intended. The level stare she had sent him had left him in no doubt as to her meaning. He was to bite back his retort and allow Fanny to continue to play the injured widow.

       Well, it will not do!

      He no more wanted to be here than Fanny wanted him here. He had never asked to be Earl. John’s father and his own papa had been twin brothers, and his father had constantly talked of the lucky chance of being the younger son.

      ‘Just think!’ Papa used to say. ‘If I had been born just twenty minutes earlier my life would have been made a prison by the responsibilities of the Earldom! It would have been farms and quarter-days and conscientiousness, with no time to enjoy my life.’

      He had instilled in Ash an abhorrence of responsibility, convincing him as a boy that John’s life would be unending dreariness and care. Ash had maintained that conviction, and even now was wary of anything that smacked of responsibility. He relied on himself and nobody depended on him. He was free to come and go as he pleased, and he liked it that way. What was more, he was determined to ensure that the Earldom would not trap him into conventionality or duty.

      He might be Earl in name, but he was damned if he would be sucked into spending his time here, in this run-down, isolated house!

      Only his obligation to John had ensured Ash’s temporary return. That and the knowledge that if he absented himself or passed responsibility to Fanny the place would be bankrupt within six months.

      He had gone through John’s financial affairs with the lawyer, and had seen enough to know that with care and attention and some of his own money he should be able to restore the accounts to good health in a year or two. Only John’s illness—and his inability to manage his affairs as a result—had led to the downturn in fortunes. Wages had not been paid, good staff had left, and everything had gone downhill from there.

      Ash had been busy in London these past two days. His valet and coachman were to follow him here tomorrow with his trunks, and he had charged his secretary with finding a good steward. He had found time to visit his closest friends to explain that he would likely be absent for a while. Most of them had thought it a great joke.

      ‘But, Ash!’ one had said, punching him light-heartedly on the arm. ‘You have never had any cares! I give it a month, then you will tire of this diversion!’

      ‘I only wish that were true, Barny,’ he had replied, somewhat sadly. ‘But I cannot see a month being long enough to fix this dashed mess!’

      Barny had been right about one thing, though. Ash had indeed never carried any responsibility. Nor had he ever wished to. He was blessed with a decent fortune from his mother’s family, which enabled him to live comfortably as a single man. He rented a house near Grosvenor Square, overpaid his servants to ensure he would avoid the inconvenience of hiring and training new ones, and spent his life entirely at his own leisure.

      He was at no one’s beck and call, he had no ties and he liked it that way. Responsibility meant limits and not being in charge of one’s own course.

      Wistfully, he reflected that if not for John and this confounded mess he would be at White’s right now, enjoying good company and fine wine. Instead of which—

      ‘We shall retire to the parlour and leave you to your port.’

      Belatedly he realised the table had been cleared and the three ladies were departing. Rising swiftly, he nodded politely, then sank back into his chair with relief when they had gone.

      Although a favourite with the ladies—one of his tasks in London yesterday had been to bid farewell to the dashing high-flyer whose company he had been enjoying for nigh on two months—he was nevertheless unused to domesticity, families and, frankly, histrionics. His life was normally calm, devoid of drama and well-organised. And he liked it that way.

      His mama had died when he was young, leaving her entire fortune in trust for Ash, and when he’d come home from school and university he and Papa would enjoy good food, fine wine and a wide range of male sports. Ash was a skilled horseman, boxer and fencer, and Papa had ensured he had access to all СКАЧАТЬ