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

Lulled by the easy pace and the beauty of her surroundings, Claire was totally unprepared for the sudden violent eruption of a pheasant from the long grass at her horse’s feet. For one heartbeat she had an impression of beating wings and a squawking cry and then her startled mount shied violently, throwing her hard. Earth and sky and trees spun crazily for some moments afterwards, so she lay quite still until the scenery had stopped moving and she could get her bearings again. Then she was aware of someone beside her and of anxious grey eyes looking down into hers.

‘Claire, are you hurt?’

For a second she did not reply, being aware only that he had used her Christian name, a mode of address that he had never employed before. Then she shook her head.

‘I… I don’t think so. Just a little dazed, that’s all.’

‘Can you sit up?’

A strong arm brought her to a sitting position and supported her there. She managed a wan smile. ‘Nothing broken, I think,’ she said. ‘Only my pride is a little bruised.’

‘That will mend. Can you stand?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

She made to rise, but was saved the trouble for his arm was round her waist, lifting her onto her feet. It stayed there while the groom was despatched to retrieve her horse. Feeling somewhat foolish and not a little self-conscious, she disengaged herself from his hold and took a tentative step away. Without warning the ground shifted under her feet and she swayed. If he had not caught her she would have fallen.

‘I think that’s the end of your ride for today,’ he said. ‘We must get you back to the house.’

‘There’s really no need. I’ll be all right in a minute or two.’

‘Nonsense! Your cheeks are the colour of paper. You need to go and lie down for a while.’

‘Really, I…’

‘Don’t be a little fool. If you get back on that horse now you’ll be off again within a minute.’

He guided her to his own horse and without further consultation she was lifted in a pair of powerful arms and transferred with consummate ease onto the front of his saddle. As the implications dawned Claire paled further. Surely he could not be intending to… It seemed that he was for, having given orders to the groom to lead the mare back, Marcus swung up behind her. Then, taking the reins in one hand, he locked the other arm around her waist. Claire tensed, her heart racing.

‘I can ride home,’ she protested. ‘There’s really no need…’

In mild panic she tried to resist the arm. For answer it tightened a little, pulling her closer.

‘I think otherwise,’ he replied, ‘and for once you’re going to do as you’re told, my girl.’

With that he turned the horse for home. Seeing there was no help for it, Claire capitulated, lapsing into warm-cheeked silence. As he glanced down at her his lips twitched.

‘What, no furious counter-argument?’

‘Would it do any good?’

‘Devil a bit,’ he replied.

It drew a wry smile in return. She might have known how it would be. Being used to a life of command, this man had an expectation of getting his own way, and an infuriating habit of succeeding, too. In any case she didn’t feel much like arguing. Her head was beginning to throb now and, in spite of her assertion to the contrary, she was no longer convinced that she could have ridden back by herself. Moreover, there was something comforting about having the responsibility removed and she felt grateful for that solid and reassuring presence.

Lucy regarded her somewhat anxiously. ‘Are you all right, Miss Davenport?’

‘Not quite right,’ she replied, ‘but I shall be better soon.’

‘It was a naughty pheasant, wasn’t it?’

‘Very naughty.’

Marcus grinned. ‘If I see it again I’ll shoot it.’

Satisfied with this, Lucy nodded and trotted along beside the groom.

Claire sighed. ‘I should have been better prepared. Then I would not have fallen off.’

‘You could scarcely have avoided it,’ Marcus replied. ‘The bird was well concealed and there is nothing like a pheasant for putting a rider on the ground.’

The tone was both humorous and kind and not what she had been expecting. There was also an unusually gentle expression in the grey eyes. Seeing it, Claire felt her pulse quicken. Not knowing quite what to say, she lapsed into silence.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Lean your head on my shoulder and rest.’

Claire reclined against him and closed her eyes. The gentle motion of the horse and the warmth of the man were soothing and gradually she began to relax. There would probably be some bruises tomorrow, but all things considered she’d got off lightly.

They returned to the stables some twenty minutes later. Marcus instructed the groom to see to Lucy and then dismounted, lifting Claire down after. Just for a moment she had a sensation of weightlessness before he sat her down gently on the cobbled yard, surveying her with a critical eye. She still looked a little pale though not quite as much as before.

‘Can you walk?’

She replied hurriedly in the affirmative, dreading that if she did not he would carry her. The idea of presenting such a spectacle to the watching servants filled her with horror. Much to her relief he did not gainsay her this time, but merely offered her his arm, and his free hand to Lucy.

‘Come then, let us go in.’

He escorted them in and sent Lucy to change before escorting Claire to the door of her room.

‘I will have Mrs Hughes send up some water,’ he said. ‘You must have a hot tub at once. If not you’ll be as stiff as a board tomorrow.’

Claire’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. Gentlemen did not commonly refer to such things in front of ladies, yet he seemed quite unembarrassed. He was also right. A hot bath would help enormously. Lowering her gaze from his, she nodded.

‘Thank you.’

‘After that you must lie down for a while until you feel better.’

‘But Lucy…’

‘I will see to Lucy. You just concern yourself with getting well again.’

With that he left her. Claire slipped thankfully into her room and closed the door, leaning upon it in relief.

In fact, Marcus was right. A hot tub and a lie down did much to restore her. She was right though about incurring some bruises, but Mrs Hughes had come to the rescue with tincture of arnica so the discomfort was considerably lessened. It was from the housekeeper that she learned about the Viscount’s plans to host a soirée.

‘It is to be a fairly small gathering,’ said Mrs Hughes, ‘but it will be so pleasant to see company at Netherclough again.’

Claire felt the first stirrings of apprehension. Company posed a possible threat to her anonymity here. However, she forced a smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

‘His Lordship wishes to establish his return in the neighbourhood,’ the housekeeper continued, ‘and that can only be to the good, can’t it?’

‘Oh, yes. When is the event to be?’

‘On Tuesday next. There’s a deal of work to do before we can pass muster, of course, but I doubt not we’ll pull it off.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

‘Perhaps he’ll ask you and Miss Lucy to come down for a while.’

Claire’s stomach lurched. The possibility had not occurred to her and now occasioned real alarm. She had no desire for anyone to see her here. It wasn’t that she thought they’d find a governess of any interest at all, but gossip spread and a careless word in the wrong place might mean her uncle somehow got to hear of it. Then she would be lost. When she had asked for this job it was in part because Netherclough was remote. It had not occurred to her that her employer would entertain. Too late she realised it had been a foolish oversight on her part.