Joanna Fulford - Secrets in the Regency Ballroom

‘I hope everything is satisfactory,’ said Mrs Hughes.

‘It’s beautiful.’

The housekeeper smiled, clearly pleased by the reaction. ‘I hope you will be happy here, Miss Davenport.’

‘I’m sure I shall. Thank you.’

‘Is the rest of your luggage to follow, miss?’

Claire knew a moment of acute embarrassment. ‘No. Everything is here.’

The only indication of the older woman’s surprise was a brief silence. Then she smiled again.

‘Well, then, perhaps you would care to take some refreshment after your journey?’

‘That would be most kind.’

Having removed her bonnet and spencer, Claire followed the housekeeper to a small parlour. A footman appeared a short time later with a tray. Mrs Hughes poured the tea and offered her guest a slice of seed cake. Thus fortified, Claire began to relax.

‘This is a beautiful house,’ she observed. ‘Have you been here long, Mrs Hughes?’

‘Thirty-five years. I took up my post in Lord Destermere’s time. The older Viscount Destermere, I mean.’

‘I see.’

‘His sons were mere children then, of course. Who could have foreseen what tragedy would follow?’ She shook her head. ‘It will be good to have this house inhabited again.’

‘I imagine it will.’

‘The estate needs attention too, after all these months. Lord Destermere will find himself busy enough, I have no doubt.’

‘Yes, I’m sure he will.’

‘Not that anyone expected to see him again after he was packed off to India.’

‘Packed off?’

‘There was some scandal involving a young woman, I believe. Someone his father considered unsuitable. I never really knew the details.’ She leaned forward confidentially. ‘Master Marcus and his brother were rather wild in their youth. I put it down to them losing their mother when they were boys. Their father took her death hard and became very withdrawn. Just between ourselves, Miss Davenport, he didn’t take the interest in his sons that he might have.’

Claire listened with close attention for the words stripped away some of the mystery surrounding her new employer. The story saddened her, too. Children were so vulnerable, as she had good cause to know. It could be no wonder that two bewildered little boys should look to their father for support and guidance. When their parent failed to provide it or show any interest they must have sought to get his attention in the only way they knew how.

‘They got up to enough mischief as boys, but that was nothing compared to what happened once they came down from Cambridge and went to London. They got in with a very fast set indeed. Gaming, drinking, horse racing, opera dancers. You name it.’

‘That must have grieved their father.’

‘There were some terrible rows, believe me,’ replied Mrs Hughes. ‘However, Master Greville calmed down a great deal when he married. In fact, it was the making of him.’

‘Was his wife very beautiful?’

‘Oh, yes, and so accomplished. The toast of London. He was very much in love with her.’

‘How sad that she should have died so young.’

‘Yes, indeed. He was almost distracted by her loss. For some time he couldn’t even bear to look at his infant daughter.’

Hearing those words, Claire felt a sudden chill. Had history repeated itself? Her heart went out to Lucy, and for the first time the burden of her new responsibility was brought home to her.

‘I really thought all would be well again after he inherited the title, but first there was the business of his wife’s untimely demise and then the dreadful news of his own death.’

‘But now Lord Destermere is returned. Perhaps all may yet be well,’ replied Claire.

‘I truly hope so.’ Mrs Hughes set down her cup and saucer. ‘And now perhaps you would like me to show you around the house?’

‘Indeed I should, if it is no trouble.’

‘No trouble at all, miss. Besides, it’s such a rambling old place that it’s easy to get lost.’

And so there followed a guided tour. The reception rooms were beautiful, and there was a library, which Claire made a mental note to revisit as soon as possible, as well as the private apartments and a long gallery lined with family portraits. The last room they visited was the schoolroom. It was spacious and light and it too had been recently redecorated. Moreover, it was supplied with rugs, table and chairs, two small desks and a blackboard and easel. A shelf held a selection of old books and toys and an ancient rocking horse stood in one corner. There was also a fireplace with logs ready laid. Claire saw it with some relief, recalling the chilly room where she and her cousins had taken their lessons under Miss Hardcastle’s exacting eye. This was cosy in comparison, though a glance at the books revealed they were too advanced, and thus unsuitable for a young child.

‘We expect His Lordship tomorrow,’ said Mrs Hughes.

Claire’s heart gave a peculiar lurch. Tomorrow. She regarded the prospect with mingled excitement and trepidation. When she had told the Viscount that she liked children it had been the truth, but her experience of them was limited. Could she do the job? Could she give an orphaned child the care needed? Then she thought back to her own childhood and the benevolent influence of Ellen Greystoke. Surely those precepts would be good ones to follow, comprised as they were of firmness and kindness, always backed by sincere interest. Please God, she thought, let me get it right.

It was therefore with mixed feelings that Claire awaited the Viscount’s return the following day. In the event, it was late afternoon when a large and handsome carriage drew up before the house. From the resulting bustle among the servants it was clear who had arrived. Hastily smoothing her skirts she hurried to the hallway where Mrs Hughes was already waiting. Uncertain of what to expect and unwilling to push herself forward Claire remained in the background. And then he was there, a tall elegant figure in a travelling cape and high-crowned beaver hat. At the sight of him her heart began to beat a little faster. His presence seemed to fill the room somehow as though the house had been waiting only for his arrival to seem complete. In that moment she knew how much she had missed him. The realisation was disturbing, the sentiment inappropriate. Forcing her expression into what she hoped was a becoming calm she drew in a deep breath. Marcus, looking round the hallway, perceived her at once, the grey eyes missing no detail of her appearance from the dark curls to the simple sprigged muslin gown. She looked as neat as wax, he thought, favouring her with a bow.

‘Well met, Miss Davenport. May I introduce your new charge?’ He glanced down at the small figure at his side. ‘This is my ward, the Honourable Lucy Eden-bridge. Lucy, this is Miss Davenport who is to be your new governess.’

The child dropped a polite curtsy and stared at Claire with big blue eyes. She was clad in a blue cloak, and a straw bonnet partially concealed light brown curls. In one small hand she was clutching a toy. She looked lost somehow, and a little timid.

Claire smiled at her. ‘Hello, Lucy. What a lovely doll.’

The child made no reply and lowered her eyes. Marcus glanced down and surveyed her keenly.

‘You should answer, child, when you are spoken to.’

Lucy’s cheeks reddened, but still she remained silent. Marcus raised an eyebrow. Fearing that the scene would escalate, Claire cut in.

‘It’s all right. This has been a big change and it will take her a while to find her feet and grow accustomed to all the new faces around her.’

‘You may be right,’ he replied.

Claire bent down so that she was on Lucy’s level. ‘What do you call your doll?’