Catherine Tinley - The Earl's Runaway Governess

The same realisation was dawning on Ash.

‘The remainder of my estate I leave to my cousin, the Fifth Earl Kingswood, Mr William Albert James Ashington...’

Without missing a beat the lawyer detailed the unentailed lands and property that Ash was to inherit. But there was more.

‘I commend my daughter, Lady Cecily Frances Kingswood, to the guardianship of the Fifth Earl—’

‘What? No! ’ Fanny almost shrieked. ‘Mr Richardson, this cannot be true!’

Ash’s blood ran cold as he saw the trap ahead of him. Guardian to a twelve-year-old child? Cutting out the child’s mother? What on earth had John been thinking?

The lawyer paused, coughed, and looked directly at Fanny over his spectacles. Chastised, she subsided, but with a mutinous look. Mr Richardson then returned to the document and read to the end.

John explained in the will that Ash was to link closely with Fanny, so that together they might provide ‘loving firmness’ for Lady Cecily. Loving firmness? What did that even mean ?

Ash’s mind was reeling. Why on earth had John done this? Did he not trust Fanny to raise the child properly by herself?

The last thing Ash wanted was to be saddled with responsibility for a child! Fanny could easily have been named as guardian, with Ash and the lawyer as trustees. Indeed, it was normally expected that a child’s mother would automatically be guardian.

The feeling of impatience and mild curiosity that had occupied him when Mr Richardson had begun his recitation had given way to shock and anger, barely contained.

Fanny, of course, then added to Ash’s delight by indulging in a bout of tears. Cecily just looked bewildered. Ash met Mr Richardson’s gaze briefly, sharing a moment of male solidarity, then he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his forehead. Would this nightmare never end?

* * *

Marianne emerged from Mrs Gray’s registry hugely relieved. She glanced at the other two young ladies in the outer office. They were now seated together and had clearly been quietly chatting to each other. They looked at her now with similar expressions—curious, polite, questioning. She was unable to resist sending them what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

She patted her reticule as she stepped into the street, conscious of the paper within. This was her future. Governess to an unknown young lady, recently bereaved and living quietly with her mother. It sounded—actually, it sounded perfect.

For the first time since her decision to run away she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, after all, things would work out. She had a situation and she would have a roof over her head. She would be living quietly in the country, far away from London. As long as Henry did not find her all would be well.

Of course she had no idea whether he was even looking for her. He might be content simply to let her vanish. On the other hand, that last look he had thrown her—one filled with evil intent—haunted her. Henry was entirely capable of ruthlessly, obsessively searching for her simply because she had thwarted his will by escaping.

She shrugged off the fear. There was nothing she could do about it beyond being careful. Besides, so far everything was working out well.

With renewed confidence, she set off for the modest inn where she had stayed last night. On Thursday her new life would properly begin.

* * *

‘You are telling me that there is no way to avoid this?’

‘Lord Kingswood, I simply executed the will. I did not write it.’ Mr Richardson was unperturbed.

Fanny had gone, helped from the room by her daughter. Fanny had been gently weeping, the image of the Wronged Widow. Ash’s hidden sigh of relief when the door had closed behind her had been echoed, he believed, by Mr Richardson. Fanny had not, it seemed, lost the ability to make a scene.

‘You have not answered my question.’

There! The subtlest of gestures, but the lawyer had squirmed a little in his seat.

‘Tell me how I can extricate myself from this and allow Lady Kingswood to raise her own child.’

‘With your permission, Lady Kingswood can of course raise her daughter.’

‘But her having to seek my permission is not right. She is the child’s mother. Why should I be the guardian?’

The lawyer shrugged. ‘Her father must have had his reasons. He did not clarify, and it was not my place to ask such questions.’

Ash decided to try another tack. ‘What of Lady Kingswood’s portion? How can I give my cousin’s widow more than her husband did?’

‘That part of the estate, as you know, is not entailed, which is how the Fourth Earl was at liberty to leave it to you. It is true that you do have the option of selling it or gifting it to someone. However—’ he raised a hand to interrupt Ash’s response ‘—after the death duties have been paid the estate will barely manage to break even. Lord Kingswood had been ill for more than a year, as you may be aware.’

‘No. I was not aware.’ Guilt stabbed through him. Damn it! Why had he not known about John’s illness?

‘During that time Lord Kingswood’s investments suffered from a lack of attention, as did the estate. His steward was very elderly—he predeceased Lord Kingswood by only a few weeks—and the burden of management fell on the shoulders of Lady Kingswood. As...er...she had no previous knowledge or background in such matters...’ His voice tailed away.

‘But nor do I!’ Ash ran his hand through his thick dark hair in frustration. ‘If the estate has suffered under Lady Kingswood’s stewardship, then how can I, equally inexperienced, be expected to do better?’

Mr Richardson eyed him calmly.

‘Well?’

‘I am afraid I have no answer to that question. What I do know is that if things are left to Lady Kingswood to manage...’ Again his voice tailed off.

Ash reflected on Lady Kingswood. The young Fanny he remembered had been a beauty, a lively dancer and a witty conversationalist. He had no idea about the woman she had become.

‘Are you suggesting that Lady Kingswood is incapable of managing?’

‘I could not possibly comment.’

‘Damn it!’ Ash slammed his hand down on John’s desk. He was trapped . A title, financial responsibilities, and now this. A twelve-year-old child to raise and a large estate to manage.

‘Quite.’ The lawyer indicated three large chests in the corner. ‘Lady Kingswood informs me that documents relating to the estate and all of Lord Kingswood’s business affairs are contained in these chests.’

Ash opened the nearest box. It was full to bursting with papers, haphazardly stuffed into the chest. It would take at least a week to sort this box alone.

‘Right. I see. Right. ’

His mind was working furiously. This was going to take weeks to sort out. Weeks even to discover the extent of the commitment he had been left with. And his life was already full—friends to meet, parties to attend, an appointment to look at a new horse...

He came to a decision. ‘I shall go to London now, as planned, and then return on Thursday, once I have dealt with my most pressing appointments.’

Inside, rage threatened to overpower him. Why have I been given this burden? Damn it, John! Why did you have to die?

The inn at Netherton was similar in some ways to the Hawk and Hound. There was a stone archway off to one side, and Marianne had barely a moment to register the swinging metal sign before the coach swung into the yard .

See? Marianne told herself. It is just an inn. The people here are no different from the people at home. I can do this.

It was a refrain she had repeated numerous times in the few days since she had slipped away from the only home she could remember. Today she had survived the indignity of travelling on the public mail coach for only the second time in her life, sandwiched between a buxom farmer’s wife and a youth travelling to visit his relations in Reading. The farmer’s wife had talked incessantly, which had been both vexing and a relief, since no one could ask her any questions.