Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford
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He was right in that instance. The marriage would have been an unmitigated disaster. Of course, I only realised that with the wisdom of hindsight.’
‘And so you found solace with the East India Company.’
‘Very much so. The place suited me very well and the Company offered the possibility of an exciting and varied career.’
‘And you never looked back?’
‘At first, but less and less as time went on. Eventually I came to see that what I’d believed to be love was merely boyish infatuation.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you think me fickle?’
She shook her head. ‘No, just young—and perhaps a little foolish.’
‘I was certainly young, and very foolish. However, India changed that. You might say I grew up there.’
‘It must have been exciting.’
‘It was, some of the time.’
‘I should like to hear about it.’
‘Some time perhaps,’ he replied.
The tone was courteous enough and the words accompanied with a smile, yet she knew that there had been an indefinable shift, as if an invisible barrier had come down between them. Clearly there were things about those years in India that he did not wish to discuss, and she had no right to trespass there. Was the mysterious Lakshmi among them? What had happened? Clearly he had been very deeply in love with her. In that case, why had he returned to England without her? Surely a man like Marcus Edenbridge wouldn’t give a snap of his fingers for social convention. In his position he didn’t need to. Perhaps the boot was on the other foot and the lady had not cared enough for him. Perhaps she had loved someone else and jilted him.
Before further contemplation was possible a maidservant arrived to inform them that some parcels had arrived. Marcus excused himself and she and Lucy took themselves off to investigate. The parcels in question proved to be from the seamstress. The next hour was spent trying on the finished garments. Claire could not but admire the workmanship. It was very fine indeed and far better than she could have done herself. The new muslin dresses were neat and functional, but the lilac evening gown was a more elegant creation, fitting close at the bust and then falling in graceful folds to her feet. The bodice, though modest, revealed her figure to advantage. In comparison to London fashion she supposed it to be unremarkable, but it was, nevertheless, a more fashionable gown than any she had owned before and she knew full well she would enjoy wearing it. The riding habit was neat and elegant, the severe lines of the military-style jacket relieved by gold frog fastenings. It fitted like a glove to the waist before falling away into the full skirt. A jaunty little hat trimmed with ostrich feathers completed the ensemble. The shade and style were well suited to her figure and colouring, and at a stroke transformed her from girl to woman of fashion. The thought was both welcome and disturbing. It occurred to her to wonder what her employer would think of the transformation. Then she told herself not to be foolish. He probably wouldn’t even notice. Uncle Hector never seemed to notice such things. At the very most a new gown had called forth a grunt from that quarter. Fortunately no one else was likely to see it, so it would not attract undue attention.
Meanwhile, Lucy had been parading up and down in front of the mirror, admiring her new riding habit from every possible angle. The colour was a perfect foil for her brown curls and blue eyes. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she stuck out a toe to see the effect of the fabric against the polished leather of a new boot. Then she smiled as her gaze met Claire’s in the glass.
‘Now Uncle Marcus can teach me to ride,’ she announced.
The first lesson was duly arranged for the following afternoon. Claire accompanied her young charge to the stable yard where Marcus was already waiting. He smiled to see Lucy’s new costume and bade her turn around so he could view it from every angle.
‘Very pretty,’ he said then.
‘I chose the material,’ she confided.
‘You chose well.’ He tweaked one of her curls and then turned to Claire. ‘I’ll take her out for an hour or so and let her get used to the saddle.’ He glanced at her muslin frock. ‘I take it you’re not accompanying us today.’
‘No, sir. I thought it best if I did not.’ Seeing him raise an eyebrow, she hurried on. ‘This being the first time Lucy has ridden. The fewer distractions she has the better.’
The grey gaze met and held hers in a long and level stare. Recalling an earlier conversation, she felt her heart begin to beat a little faster. Was he annoyed? However, to her relief he merely nodded.
‘Well, you may be right on this occasion. However, in future I shall expect you to come along, Miss Davenport.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘I do wish it.’
Conscious of that penetrating gaze, Claire tried to appear unconcerned. However, it wasn’t easy when he was standing so close. With no little relief she watched him turn his attention to his niece, lifting her easily onto the pony’s back. She listened as he showed the child how to sit and how to hold her reins. Lucy hung on his every word.
Once she was ready he swung onto his own horse. He looked as if he belonged there, she thought, a born horseman. There was an elegance about the tall, lithe figure, and a suggestion of contained strength. She watched him take the pony’s leading rein and touch his horse with his heels. Then they set off, followed at a respectful distance by Trubshaw. Claire watched until they were out of sight and then retraced her steps to the house.
Lucy took to the experience of riding like a duck to water and the following day saw her and Claire in the stable yard again. This time, both were dressed to ride. The Viscount made no comment on Claire’s appearance and merely greeted her with his customary courtesy.
In fact, he had noted the habit with approval, his critical gaze taking in every detail. It was elegant and quietly stylish and, he thought, it became her very well indeed, showing off her figure to perfection. And what a figure! A man could span that waist with his hands. Even the sober colour looked good on her too, he thought, complementing her dark curls and enhancing those wonderful hazel eyes. He smiled wryly. It remained to be seen whether she could ride. He had selected a pretty bay mare for her, a willing creature but well mannered withal.
Whatever doubts he might have had on that score were soon allayed. She had an excellent seat and a light hand on the reins. Moreover, she looked very much at home in the saddle. He found himself wishing they were alone so that she might really put the mare through her paces. For some time they rode at Lucy’s pace, but then, feeling the need for something more challenging, he reined in and told Trubshaw to go on ahead.
‘We’ll catch up in a minute.’ He looked across at Claire. ‘These horses need to stretch their legs.’
At the thought of a gallop her eyes brightened. Part of her suspected he was also testing her, but she didn’t care. Once again she was aware of his regard and felt rising warmth along her neck and face. To hide her confusion she kept her eyes on the departing figures. When she judged they were far enough away she threw him a quizzical glance. He met and held it.
‘Well, Miss Davenport?’
For answer she touched the mare with her heel. The horse sprang forwards into a canter. Out of the corner of her eye Claire saw the Viscount’s chestnut drawing level. She grinned. So he wanted to test her, did he? She leaned forwards a little and gave the horse its head. The mare accelerated into a gallop, her neat hooves flying across the turf. Exhilarated by the pace and the rushing air Claire laughed out loud. Behind her she could hear the thudding hoofbeats of the other horse and then a moment later saw it draw level. A sideways glance revealed a grin on its rider’s face. In that second she