Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford
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down to pat the mare’s neck. Lucy was agog.
‘It was a draw, Miss Davenport. I was watching.’
Claire laughed. ‘I think you’re right.’
‘I’m going to ride like that one day,’ the child continued.
‘Yes, but not just yet,’ said Claire.
‘Certainly not,’ agreed the Viscount. Then, seeing Lucy’s crestfallen expression, he softened the blow. ‘You’ll learn soon enough.’
As they set off again he reined his mount alongside Claire.
‘How do you like the mare?’
‘I like her very well.’
‘I thought you might. She was a lady’s horse before, and is of a sweet temperament.’
‘Her owner must have been sad to part with her.’
‘I imagine so. However, I could hardly have mounted you on one of my hunters.’
Claire threw him a swift sideways glance in which dismay was clearly registered. Surely he hadn’t bought the horse on her account? That was ridiculous. He must have had the animal for some time. Yet she couldn’t recall having seen her when she and Lucy visited the stables before. Furthermore, the mare was no more than fifteen hands and finely made, certainly not up to a man’s weight. As the implications dawned she felt a strange sensation in her breast. It was a feeling compounded of gratitude and alarm. He had already shown her a great deal of consideration. More than she had any right to expect.
Although he could not follow her train of thought he could not mistake the expression of dismay on her face and he mentally rebuked himself for his clumsiness. He had meant to let her think the horse had been part of his stable.
‘I purchased her along with Lucy’s pony,’ he said. ‘As I told you, I shall require you to accompany my niece when I cannot.’
The tone was cool and firm and precluded argument. Claire avoided his eye and kept her gaze straight ahead between the horse’s ears.
‘Yes, sir.’
It was the only reply she felt able to give. He was her employer and his wishes prevailed. More than that, she had enjoyed herself too much today to want to forfeit the chance of riding in future. Now that she was on a horse again she realised how much she had missed it.
Somewhat to her disappointment, business occupied him for the next few days so she and Lucy had to go out without him. Trubshaw was in attendance as usual but the Viscount was conspicuous by his absence. Claire tried hard not to miss him but, though it was undoubtedly a pleasure to ride, it wasn’t the same somehow. She was annoyed with herself for feeling the lack. For goodness’ sake, she was too old for what amounted to a schoolgirl crush! He certainly wouldn’t be giving her a moment’s thought. Why should he? He had hired her to do a job. If he showed her any additional courtesy it was on account of what had gone before and, perhaps, because of her connection with the Greystokes.
That last proved a calming thought. The Viscount valued Dr Greystoke’s friendship very highly and was also beholden to Ellen for her previous care of him. He would not risk offending either by his treatment of Claire. Having got a new perspective on the situation, she cringed inwardly when she remembered her response to his kindness. What a vain little fool she must appear. As if a man like Marcus Edenbridge would look twice at a governess! Why should he? He could have his pick of all the eligible young women in the land. Mortified now, Claire resolved to demonstrate a different kind of behaviour when next they met.
That proved to be on Thursday when the Greystokes came to dine at Netherclough. Claire was relieved to learn that they were to be the only company that evening. It meant there was no one else to note her presence and perhaps mention it to others later. Her whereabouts would remain secret. She dressed with care, selecting her new lilac gown. It was simple and elegant without being ostentatious, and the colour suited her. As she had no other jewellery her only adornment was her locket. Nevertheless she was not displeased by her appearance when she looked in the glass. It should at least pass muster. Affording her reflection a last wry smile, she left her chamber and made her way to the drawing room.
She arrived to find the guests talking to their host, but at her entrance they greeted her with expressions of pleasure, which she returned with equal sincerity.
George gave her a beaming smile.
‘Good to see you, Miss Davenport, and how very well you look.’
Ellen echoed the sentiment. ‘Indeed you do, my dear. And what a delightful gown.’
The Viscount, listening, knew the words for truth. As he hadn’t seen the frock before he gathered it must be a new purchase. Clearly the trip to Harrogate had been productive. The colour of the fabric became her well, suiting her dark curls and fresh complexion, and his critical eye could find no fault with the cut or the style. It epitomised simple, understated elegance. She seemed to have an instinct for it. He noted that she was wearing the silver locket again. It was a pretty trinket, but amethysts would go better with that gown. Even so it showed off her figure well and, he reflected, a figure like hers should be shown off. It was beautiful. His imagination stripped away the dress and contemplated what lay beneath. He caught his breath. With an effort of will he forced the image away and his attention back to his guests.
A short time later dinner was announced. He offered his arm to Miss Greystoke while her brother led Claire in. Throughout the meal, though he kept up his part in the general conversation, Marcus found his attention repeatedly returning to Claire. Yet his critical eye could discern not the least hint of awkwardness in her demeanour, and her manners were impeccable. Far from seeming out of place, she looked as though she belonged.
Once the meal was over the two ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to talk over their brandy and cigars. Claire had been looking forward to having the opportunity for private speech with Ellen, and when at last the two of them were alone she seated herself on the sofa beside her friend.
‘Now tell me all,’ Ellen said. ‘And especially about your young charge.’
She listened avidly as Claire supplied the details.
‘I am so glad that all is well. I gathered as much from your letter, but it’s always reassuring to hear it from your own lips.’
‘I have nothing to complain of,’ said Claire. ‘The Viscount takes a great interest in Lucy’s education and provides whatever I ask for in that regard.’
‘Excellent.’
‘He is most solicitous about the child and seems anxious to ensure her happiness.’
‘So it would seem.’ Ellen paused. ‘Has he said any more about finding the men responsible for his brother’s death?’
‘No, but that does not mean he has abandoned the scheme.’
‘At least he can use his position to enlist the help of the authorities. That must be far safer than adopting a false identity.’
‘I cannot think he will do so again, not now he has Lucy to consider.’
Had they known it, the conversation in the dining room was turning on a similar theme.
‘Have you taken further action?’ asked George.
‘I called upon Sir Alan Weatherby in Harrogate last week. He is my godfather—was Greville’s too—and is a local magistrate besides. He is most anxious to have information about the wreckers. Rest assured, if he learns anything I shall know of it soon after.’
‘Then he knows the truth?’
‘Yes. Sir James Wraxall also knew of Greville’s mission here, though not his true identity. He knew my brother by the pseudonym of David Gifford.’
‘Wraxall knew?’
‘Yes, and lent his full support to the scheme.’
‘I suppose