The Earl and the Governess

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‘What’s wrong?’ Even though he’d apologised for his abruptness, his voice sounded gruff and irritable.

She raised her gaze from her suddenly conspicuous breasts and realised that he was watching her in the mirror. She turned around immediately, slouching her shoulders forwards in an attempt at modesty. ‘Nothing.’

His gaze lingered on her face for just a second longer than was proper, but before she had a chance to turn an even more intense red, a matronly, middle-aged woman walked purposefully into the hall.

He dragged his attention away from Isabelle and cleared his throat. ‘Ah, Mrs Wright. This is Miss Thomas.’

The woman—obviously his housekeeper—smiled warmly, her manners too good to reveal any surprise at her appearance.

He turned to Isabelle, assiduously keeping his gaze above her neck. ‘I thought Mrs Wright could show you around the house this morning. Perhaps you would prefer to…uh, go to your room directly to change?’

She nodded silently, and with a nod of his own, directed at both her and Mrs Wright, he returned to his study.

‘Well, then,’the housekeeper said cheerily, clapping her hands together, ‘shall we begin?’

Before setting off, Isabelle restored her modesty by fishing a shawl from her bag and wrapping it around her shoulders.

‘You poor duck. I’ll lead you straight to your room, although I think we can see most of the house on the way.’

Isabelle followed her up the staircase to the first floor, feeling rather awed by the woman’s efficiency. She talked practically non-stop as they walked, and Isabelle hoped she might be an ally. She’d obviously already offended the footman.

‘I’m afraid most of the rooms on this floor are formal and won’t pertain to your duties,’ Mrs Wright was saying. She opened one half of a pair of massive, mahogany doors. ‘Here is the ballroom. Rather nice, don’t you think?’

Nice? It was the largest room Isabelle had ever seen, not that she had much to compare it to. The parquet floors gleamed, uncluttered by furniture except for a long suite of damask-covered chairs that lined the walls and four carved mahogany side tables. Tall windows, framed by red velvet, tasselled curtains, filled the room with light, making it bright even on a cloudy day. And beyond the windows, gardens—gardens of a size she hadn’t realised existed in London. It was like a palace.

She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Yes. Rather nice.’

Mrs Wright had apparently grown jaded by this level of opulence and didn’t waste any time gawping. She walked briskly across the room, and Isabelle struggled to keep up. At the other side, she opened another door, leading them into a dim corridor.

‘This is a servants’ passage. It connects most of the principal rooms. This door here…’ she paused to rap on it gently ‘…leads to steps that will take you all the way downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs Graham is the cook. She doesn’t like anyone to take food from the kitchen between meals, and I’d advise you not to get in her way.’ She laughed, but Isabelle didn’t find the prospect of a truculent cook amusing. They kept walking.

Mrs Wright pointed out the door that led to the dining room as they passed, but she didn’t bother opening it. At the end of the passage, they came to a set of stairs. Standing beneath the staircase, Isabelle looked up, feeling dizzy. They appeared to spiral up for another two storeys.

‘These will take you to your bedroom. There’s another set of servants’ stairs on the north side of the house, and you should try to use them unless you’re accompanying Miss Weston-Burke—you’re not as low as a scullery maid, my dear, but still it’s best to keep out of sight. And you should use the servants’ entrance in the future, as well. I will give you a key.’ Isabelle blushed—she’d already used the front door twice. Had that been wrong? She wasn’t used to thinking like a servant.

Mrs Wright mounted the steps and Isabelle followed behind her, forcing herself not to look down or think too hard about how securely the stairs were attached to the wall. They stopped at the second floor, and Mrs Wright opened a door. It led into a small vestibule containing a walnut armchair and a tall, Chinese vase. A fat tabby cat slept peacefully on the chair. The tip of one of his ears appeared to have been torn, and his tail trailed down crookedly, as if it had been broken at some point.

‘I won’t bother showing you this floor since you’ll never need anything on it. His lordship’s rooms are at the far end, and all the other rooms are vacant bedrooms. And that fine creature,’ she added, motioning towards the cat, ‘is your other charge.’

The cat yawned and stretched.

Isabelle stared at it. ‘My other charge?’

‘Yes, and he’s very demanding. He’s called Tobias the Third, and you mustn’t be too kind to the scoundrel. He followed his lordship home one afternoon about two years ago, and his lordship made the mistake of feeding him and letting him inside. We’ve been trying to evict him ever since…he’s supposed to stay in the kitchen, but Mrs Graham’s terrified of cats and keeps letting him out. Silly woman always pretends it’s an accident.’

‘Why is he the third?’

‘Tobias the First died three years ago. The Second lives in his lordship’s country house in Norfolk. He’s a talent for taking in strays—an honourable quality, I suppose, but I told him I’d leave the minute Tobias the Fourth appeared nonetheless. Not one yet has been a good mouser, so they’re no use to me. Come along.’

They returned to the dark staircase and walked up one more flight. Mrs Wright was short of breath when they reached the top.

‘The rest of the servants reside in the north wing, but you’ll sleep on this floor, amongst the children’s bedrooms. Ceilings are still quite high.’ Isabelle followed her down the corridor. ‘The nursery is the fifth door on the right. This room is yours.’

Isabelle peeked inside. She was pleasantly surprised, as she had been by every aspect of the house. Being a governess, she could enjoy a position better than a servant’s, but still a long way from being a guest or a family member. Yet even though her room was not on one of the principal floors, its ceiling was embellished with a simple cornice and a central rosette. The walls were painted a buttery yellow, making the room warm, bright and cheerful—not grand like the rooms she’d already seen, but by any other standard quite impressive.

She couldn’t believe her luck. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you for showing me.’

Mrs Wright nodded. ‘T’isn’t any trouble. You may also use the small bedroom next door as a sitting room if you like, as no one else will if you don’t. The house is one of the largest in London, and it was never intended to be so empty. These rooms should be full of children, but his lordship is in no hurry to marry.’

Don’t look too interested. ‘No?’

‘No—women have thrown themselves at him since he was a lad, and I suppose he’s never seen the sense in limiting himself to one woman for the rest of his life. But he will marry some day soon, I’m sure. He understands his duty.’

Isabelle frowned slightly, but she didn’t know why exactly.

‘You’ll find Miss Weston-Burke in the nursery.’

‘Can you tell me anything about her?’ Isabelle asked as Mrs Wright turned to leave.

She paused in the doorway, frowning. ‘She’s been here for less than a fortnight, and she’s kept mostly to herself.’

‘What sort of things does she like to do?’

The housekeeper shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. Don’t know if she likes to do anything at all.’

That was a queer thing to say. ‘What do you mean?’

‘From what I’ve gathered, mischief and mayhem are her only pursuits. According to her school report, which I took the liberty of reading as his lordship left it open on his desk, she’s the most sullen and disobedient girl they’d known in a decade. They sent her away, you know. That’s why he hired you.’

‘Oh?’ Lord Lennox had failed to mention that.

‘Indeed,’ Mrs Wright said with a smile. A rather knowing smile, Isabelle thought, as the older woman sailed away, humming.

Chapter Six

Isabelle allowed her hair to dry and changed into a fresh gown, unfortunately very wrinkled from travel. She’d hoped to hang it up overnight. Then she pottered about for another twenty minutes, opening every drawer in hopes of finding telling artefacts to illuminate the rakish Lord Lennox. Billets-doux from past mistresses, threatening letters from creditors…but she found nothing more than a broken fan and a ten-year-old receipt for roof repairs.

Finally, she knew she could put the meeting off no longer.

She left her room and walked down the corridor to the nursery. She knocked lightly, and when no one answered after several seconds she opened the door with trepidation. The walls inside were covered with rather tatty Chinese paper—birds and blossoming trees picked at by generations of young Stanton fingers.A dollhouse, made to resemble the grand house that contained it, stood on a stand to the side of the room. Its inhabitants made up a sorry skeleton crew: a wax-faced mother and her three children, each in a state of dishabille, a wild-haired maid and a decapitated butler. Other than that, the room showed little sign of recent occupation.