My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) (7 page)

“Might I have a word with you alone, my lord?” Olmstead asked without preamble and with a look at the secretary.

“Of course. Huntington?” Adrian gestured for Thomas to leave them. When the door was closed, the captain spoke.

“I have just had a hard, cold ride from London, but they wanted you to have this information immediately and it could not be put into writing.”

“Well?” Adrian handed him a glass of brandy from a sideboard and poured one for himself.

“I hate to be the one breaking this news, but it would appear that the leaked information has a direct line from you.”

“Are we sure?”

“Yes. It was your plan that pinpointed it.”

“Bit of irony there, eh?”

As Captain Olmstead had no answer to this, they sat in silence for a moment.

“Any clues we can use to determine precisely
who
is doing this?” Adrian asked.

“None. Canning thought you might be able to tell us where to start.”

“Sorry to say it—but I have not the foggiest notion. I would have staked my reputation on the fact that all my people are clean.” He gave a derisive snort. “That is precisely what I’ve done, isn’t it?”

“No ideas at all?”

“I have considered carefully all the people who might have had access to my papers—and I cannot see any of them being involved.”

“Perhaps you are too close to the situation.”

“Perhaps.”

The two of them spent several more minutes discussing possible culprits—from the courier who regularly brought Adrian’s dispatches to any person with even the most remote access to Whitsun Abbey. Finally the weary captain left, promising to return the next day.

The other distraction occupying Lord Trenville’s mind was the family’s annual remove to Wallenford for the Christmas holidays. Huntington, whose mother lived in a cottage in the next village, would remain in Devonshire, but everyone else would be going to Adrian’s father’s seat in Wiltshire for three or four weeks. He informed Miss Palmer of this family custom on one of his afternoon visits to the schoolroom.

“I see,” she said. “Shall I be accompanying the children then?”

“Why, of course.” His surprise was apparent. “The children will have a few days of holiday, but their lessons will continue.”

“Oh. I just thought . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Thought what?” he asked. “That we would leave you behind? Not likely, Miss Palmer. We rely on you too much.”

That was certainly true. But her name had again come up as he and Olmstead discussed possible spies. Adrian did not want to think of her in such a light at all, but the fact was she appeared in his life about the same time this trouble with leaked information attached itself to him. It would not hurt to have her near enough to watch, if only to be able to prove Olmstead’s suspicions groundless.

“I see,” she said again, sounding rather vague.

“The nursery and schoolrooms at Wallenford are quite adequate,” he assured her, “but if you wish any particular items included, you must inform the maids as they pack.”

 

 

Elinor felt decidedly stupid. Why had she not even thought about the Christmas holiday? Another example of how she had simply not thought this venture through. She had never spent a Christmas away from her family, though for several years the closest family had been only her father and her brother. There had always been a house full of more distant relatives and friends as well. Now she would be alone among strangers. What was worse—much worse—Peter would be left on his own among people who cared little for him. Last year, when they had been still mourning their father, the holiday season had been awful for them, but at least they had been able to comfort each other. Now Peter would be on his own. She felt sorry for him. Indeed, she felt sorry for herself, but she knew she could do nothing about the situation.

She sat down to write Peter a long letter explaining that she was well, but would be unable to join him for the holidays. She tried to make her letter cheerful and amusing, ignoring her own loneliness. She had left money with Miss Palmer in London to accept mail for “Mrs. Garrison” and send it on to her brother. She could, of course, ask the marquis to frank her letters for her, but she thought it much more prudent to await a decently dry day and walk to the village to post her letter.

She was able to do so sooner than she expected. As she prepared to set out on the long walk to the village, Trenville stepped into the entrance hall. She caught his image in the looking glass as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” She picked up the reticule containing her letter.

“Miss Palmer. Are you going out?”

“Merely to the village to purchase a trifle or two for Mrs. Hoskins.”

“Mrs. Hoskins usually sends a footman on such errands, I believe,” he said.

“Well, yes, but as I was going anyway, I volunteered my services. There are a few items I wish for myself.”

“The same footman could do for you as well,” he said firmly. “You’ve no business traipsing off by yourself when the weather is so uncertain.”

“But it is perfectly dry now,” she said, “and it is only a short distance. I thought to enjoy the exercise.” She tried to keep her voice calm. He might be her employer, but what business did he have checking on her so closely, especially as this was her free half day?

“A short distance? Good heavens, woman, it is more than six miles! You should confine your exercise to the Abbey gardens.”

“Six miles?” she echoed in a small voice. “But I wanted to ... make some small purchases.” It was vital that Peter receive her letter before he left school for the holidays.

“Well, then, take the gig—and a groom,” he said impatiently. “Riverton, see to it,” he ordered the hovering butler and turned away.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said to his receding back.

Despite her earlier visit there, she had not realized it was quite so far to the village. She had no doubt she could walk such a distance, but it would likely be dark before she returned in this season of very short days. Did he have to be quite so high-handed in offering the gig? If nothing else came of this experience, she was surely gaining a better appreciation of the feelings of the so-called lower orders!

A short while later she was seated in the gig beside a groom from the Trenville stables. He was a pleasant and amiable young man who sang the praises of his employer the entire way—much to Elinor’s annoyance today.

“Where to, miss?” he asked as they entered the village.

“I think there is a mercantile shop, is there not?” She hoped she remembered correctly that the post office was located in that establishment.

“Tanner’s.” He pointed with the whip.

There it was: “Tanner’s Mercantile” in large letters and a smaller, more discreet sign saying “Post Office.”

“Please just wait for me here,” she instructed the groom when it seemed he would follow her into the shop after helping her to alight.

“Yes, miss.”

As she entered the shop Elinor nodded a greeting to the plump woman behind the counter and the customer she was serving. The proprietor returned the greeting, asked if she could be of service, and pointed Elinor in the right direction for ribbons, needles, and knitting wool. Elinor cast a surreptitious glance at the other two as they resumed their conversation in subdued tones. She was sure they were discussing her. Finally, the customer left and Elinor took her items to the counter.

“Oh! And I should like to post this letter,” she said, keeping her voice casual as she fished the letter and some coins to pay for her purchases out of her reticule.

“Ain’t ye the new governess at the Abbey?” the woman asked curiously, pausing in the transaction.

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, then, whyn’t ye ’ave ’is lordship frank this fer ye?”

“I could not trouble Lord Trenville with my personal correspondence, now could I?” Elinor smiled—disarmingly, she hoped.

“Don’t see why not,” the woman replied. “ ’is lordship is a right kindly fellow.”

“Yes, he is,” Elinor agreed, making her tone more firm. “But I do not wish to trouble him with my personal business.”

The woman behind the counter shrugged. “‘ave it yer way—but this here’s a thick’n. Gonna be dear at t’other end.”

“The receiver is prepared to pay,” Elinor said, gathering up her packages.

Just then the bell attached to the door jingled to herald the entrance of another customer.

“Greetings, Mrs. Tanner. How is my favorite shopkeeper in all of West Benton?” Elinor’s heart sank as she recognized that hearty voice as belonging to Captain Olmstead. “Ah, Miss Palmer.” He gave her a polite bow. “May I help you?” He reached to take her packages which she automatically gave over to him.

He walked out to the gig with her, making idle conversation as they went. He handed her up, gave her the packages, and stepped back to wave her off before returning to the shop.

Her mind in turmoil during the return drive, she paid scant attention to the groom’s chatter. Would Olmstead learn she had posted a letter? Perhaps she should have had Trenville frank it after all. What was the likelihood of his connecting the names of Garrison and Palmer and discovering the ruse? No. It was better this way. Surely Captain Olmstead would have no reason to inquire about her business in the mercantile shop or to note the activities of a mere governess.

The chief residents of Whitsun Abbey, along with the governess, two maids, his lordship’s valet, and necessary outriders and groomsmen to attend three carriages, removed to Wallenford during the second week of December.

Wallenford was not the first ducal seat Elinor had ever visited, but it was certainly the most elegant. The huge, palatial house showed an eclectic gathering of architectural styles spanning its nearly three centuries. Elinor would have been lost several times had the children not taken great delight in showing her about.

For the Duchess of Wallenford, Christmas was obviously
the
big family and social occasion of the year, though Elinor had learned earlier that her grace also enjoyed the season in Town. As more guests arrived and the guest chambers filled up, Elinor had some difficulty keeping all the names attached to their correct faces. Besides the oldest son’s widow and child and the younger son and his children, there were the two daughters of the Duke and Duchess of Wallenford along with their titled spouses and an assortment of six more children. In addition, there was an older gentleman who turned out to be the duke’s younger brother, a navy admiral whom Adrian obviously admired. And there was Henrietta—Aunt Henny—whom everyone adored, despite her rather brusque manner. Though bound to a wheeled chair, the Lady Henrietta missed nothing.

As the family gathered, lessons diminished in importance, until finally the children were left largely to their own entertainments and the supervision of their respective nursery maids. As the only governess in attendance, Elinor distinctly felt neither fish nor fowl. She wondered resentfully just why she was here.

She was invited and readily accompanied the others when they went on excursions with the children—ice skating, building a whole family of snow people, and caroling. Watching the others enjoy their family togetherness made her acutely aware of missing her brother and she worried anew about his being alone. Well, perhaps not alone in the sense of not having others about, but certainly not in the most convivial of company with Uncle Brompton and that lot.
And
, she asked herself,
do you truly think you could have been with Peter without the Bromptons knowing?

Scarcely had the family been duly accommodated when an assemblage of guests began to occupy the remaining chambers. In the end, there would be nearly thirty adult guests, plus sundry children. Elinor was informed that her presence would be required at evening meals and entertainments. While she considered it a kindness of the duchess to include her, she suffered no illusions. Her presence was “required” to even the numbers at table.

The additional guests were an assortment of members of two generations—that of the duke and duchess on the one hand, and their children on the other. The latter group included several eligible ladies and gentlemen. One afternoon as guests gathered for tea, Elinor chanced to overhear Adrian’s two sisters talking quietly with one another.

“Well,” the Countess of Cambden was saying, “I do not see why Mother persists in putting those two together. Merrilee Grimsley has been out for two seasons now. If he were truly interested, he would pay her more attention.”

“You know how our dear mama fancies herself a matchmaker,” the other, the Viscountess Tellson, replied.

“And with disastrous results. Beatrice was a mistake of major proportions.”

“Oh, come now. He was besotted with her initially.”

“Perhaps,” the countess agreed reluctantly. “A pretty face and practiced charm can do wonders. But let’s face it—our brothers did not show much sense in choosing their wives!”

Good heavens! They were discussing Adrian. Elinor was embarrassed at being privy to such a conversation, but she could not tear herself away.

Lady Tellson laughed. “You must admit that Gabrielle has just the sort of charm that attracts gentlemen like flies to honey.”

“She does that,” the other concurred. “But neither she nor Beatrice had much in common with their husbands. Had he lived, Alex would have been bored eventually with Gabrielle. And, lord knows, Adrian was bored within weeks of the marriage vows.”

“I think you are right. He never said anything, though. Just immersed himself in work.”

“And then felt guilty when he lost her as the twins were born. Now, just as he seems to be regaining some of his old vitality, Mother presents him with another bubble-brained debutante.” Lady Cambden was clearly vexed with her mother.

“The dowager Lady Grimsley is very eager to see her daughter a marchioness.”

“Poor Adrian. Beset from all sides.”

With that, the two women drifted away.

In the evenings, the duchess provided a variety of activities to amuse her guests—card games, charades, and musical performances—often evolving into impromptu dancing. One evening, the duchess invited members of the local gentry to join her house party for a performance of Christmas plays by a group of mummers and dancing afterward. It was to be a very festive affair. The ballroom was richly decorated and she had hired a group of musicians.

Since overhearing the conversation between Adrian’s sisters, Elinor made more effort to sort out the various characters in the near theatrical production that was the Wallenfords’ house party. She like the ladies Tellson and Cambden, both of whom seemed level-headed and intelligent. Lady Elinor Richards would have welcomed their friendship. Their husbands were likeable sorts, too.

Gabrielle was in her element. The ladies of the party supplied her with gossipy
on dits
and several gentlemen—two of them quite seriously—never failed to direct flattering flirtations her way. She did not appear to favor a particular gentleman, but Elinor thought the lovely Frenchwoman would not be the Dowager Marchioness of Trenville for much longer.

Elinor had also taken note of the young woman Adrian’s sisters had mentioned. Merrilee Grimsley was a very pretty blond girl four or five years younger than Elinor. She had a sparkling laugh and seemed eager to please.

And the person she seemed most eager to please was his lordship, the Marquis of Trenville. She was frequently in his company. If the game was charades, she was on his team. If they played cards, she was his partner. He often stood up to dance with her. That these pairings more often than not were the work of his mother or hers was beside the point—the girl commanded much of his time and attention.

The centerpiece of the decorations in the ballroom was a “kissing ball,” a huge globe of mistletoe hung with a red bow. There was much laughter and teasing as various couples were caught—or allowed themselves to be caught—under the kissing ball.

At the end of a lively country dance Adrian was caught there with Merrilee.

Amidst much playful urging from onlookers he was encouraged to take advantage of the opportunity. Merrilee seemed to offer her lips and with a roomful of spectators, he could hardly have refused to kiss her, had he wanted to. And, so far as Elinor could see, there was little reluctance on his part to perform the deed. Perhaps he meant it to be a quick kiss, but Merrilee wound her arms around his neck and visibly pressed her body against his. Elinor felt a terrible wrenching sensation in her midsection and turned away to occupy herself elsewhere.

Twice, in doing the gentlemanly thing of making all the guests feel welcomed in the last few days, Adrian had danced with her. Each time she felt the familiar physical reaction he seemed always to evoke. She was a fool, she now admonished herself, ever to think he might be remotely interested in an insignificant governess. And the fact she was not really a governess was of no consequence. Indeed, should it ever be found out, the result would be a monumental scandal. Meanwhile, his mother seemed to be enjoying success in promoting the match of her choice.

The next day Elinor was returning from an afternoon walk when she encountered Lady Henrietta bundled up with a laprobe and reading a book on the terrace.

“Are you not chilly out here, my lady?” Elinor asked.

“Not really. The sun, weak as it is, feels good. Come join me, my dear.”

“Thank you.” Eleanor took a nearby chair.

“You seem decidedly unhappy to me,” Lady Henrietta said.

“I cannot think why you would think so, Lady Henrietta,” Elinor equivocated.

“My dear Miss Palmer, it is my body, not my perception that is impaired. I am said to be a very good listener, so tell me your story.” The words commanded, but the tone was gentle.

“You would be unlikely to find my tale extraordinary, my lady.” Elinor again sought to divert the older woman’s attention.

“Every human being has an extraordinary tale to tell if one only listens and observes. Now, tell me why you are so unhappy, my dear.”

“I am not precisely unhappy,” Elinor began slowly. Perceiving Lady Henrietta’s disbelief, she went on, “It is just that I have a brother and he is more or less alone this holiday and I miss him.”

Lady Henrietta nodded sympathetically. “Being a governess ain’t easy, is it? I narrowly missed that life myself.”

“Oh?” Elinor prompted.

“I did not take well, you see. My parents tried to arrange a match, but I was able to talk Papa out of it. Then Mary fell head over heels for Wallenford—he was Trenville, then, you know. They take care of me.” She laughed again. “Perhaps it is just as well I did not take, ending up in this chair as I did. But, as I said, I might have been in the same position you hold.”

“It is not truly so bad,” Elinor said. “His lordship is very generous and the children are delightful.” She smiled and added, “Most of the time.”

Lady Henrietta eyed her companion speculatively. “You are young and pretty. How is it that your parents did not do better by you?”

Elinor blushed. How could she answer this question? “My parents are both dead, my lady. Mother died when my younger brother was born. And Father some time later.” She could hardly admit to this woman that it had been only a year and a few months since her father’s death.

“And your brother?”

“He is in school much of the time. He is spending his holiday with our uncle.”

“Your uncle? Why are you not with him?”

Elinor shifted uncomfortably. These questions were, of course, obtrusively nosy. Somehow, one did not resent them from this woman, but neither could she answer them in a forthright manner.

“My uncle is not in a position to help me,” she said. Well, that was true enough.

“How unfortunate for you,” Aunt Henny replied, “but fortunate for Adrian. He tells me you are very good with the children.”

“His lordship is very kind,” Elinor murmured.

“And how do you get on with
him?
He is accounted by some to be arrogant and overbearing, though I have personally never observed such,” Trenville’s aunt said.

Yet another question to which it was hard to respond. Elinor kept quiet.

Lady Henrietta patted Elinor’s hand. “I am sorry, my dear. I did not mean to put you in an uncomfortable position. I adore my nephew and it is my greatest wish to see him happy. He has been far too intense in recent years. Not the carefree young man he used to be.”

“That is understandable, is it not?” Elinor asked.

“Oh, yes, but he withholds himself. Does not trust others as he used to.” Adrian’s aunt sat pensively for a moment, then she added, “Or, perhaps it is his own judgment of others that he does not trust as he used to. There seems to be good rapport between the two of you, though.”

“I hope so.” Elinor’s voice sounded neutral, but she wondered if Lady Henrietta suspected her attraction to her employer.

 

 

For Adrian, the removal to Wallenford had brought few changes in his work with the Foreign Office. He continued to receive government dispatches and dealt with them as they arrived. In this respect, the visit was most fortunate, for Wallenford was considerably closer to London than the Abbey was.

During the second week of their stay at his father’s chief residence, he received a message requiring immediate response. Ordering a footman to take the courier to the kitchen for some refreshment, Adrian retreated to his father’s library to prepare his reply. When he finished, he found no footman available to summon the courier. He carried the sealed packet to the kitchen himself.

As he pushed open the door of the kitchen, he heard voices and laughter. There, seated at one end of the huge worktable in the center of the room, was his courier, placidly partaking of bread, cheese, sweet cakes, and cider. At an angle from the courier, her hands encircling a mug of cider, sat Miss Palmer. The two of them appeared to be enjoying a casual conversation with the cook and one of the kitchen maids.

For a moment, everyone seemed locked in a silent tableau. The courier jumped to his feet as Adrian cleared his throat.

“Thompkins, when you have finished your meal, you may be on your way.” He laid the dispatch case on the table between the man and Miss Palmer and with a gesture indicated that Thompkins should reseat himself.

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

“Mr. Thompkins was just telling us a most amusing tale from his service in the Peninsula.” Miss Palmer’s eyes twinkled with merriment behind her glasses.

Adrian raised an eyebrow in question.

“It seems one of their pack donkeys adopted a dog as its companion,” she explained.

“An’ that devil of a donkey wouldn’t move a step less’n his friend was with ’im,” Thompkins assured his audience.

“Interesting. Do finish your meal,” Adrian said again to the courier. “We cannot have you fainting from hunger on the road.” He took a seat himself across from Miss Palmer. “I was not aware that you two knew each other.” He tried not to sound suspicious.

The cook placed a cup of the hot brew in front of Adrian and retreated.

“Oh, we do not really know each other,” Elinor explained, “but we did meet at the Abbey some weeks ago when Mr. Thompkins brought you a message.”